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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Poems  and  Ballads 


BY 

ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON 


>344S 


NEW   YORK 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 
1903 


004 


Copyright,  1895,  1896,  by 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 


A 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A  CHILD'S  GARDEN  OF  VERSES 1 

UNDERWOODS 93 

BALLADS 275 


PUBLISHERS'    NOTE 

In  addition  to  the  collection  in  one  volume  of  all  of  Mr.  Stevenson's 
previously  published  poems,  this  Edition  contains  (as  the  third 
book  of  "Underwoods")  more  than  forty  additional  pieces  of 
verse,  written  since  the  publication  of  the  separate  volumes. 


A, 


A   CHILD'S  GARDEN  OF  VERSES 

PAGE 

Dedication     . 3 

I  Bed  in  Summer 5 

II  A  Thought 6 

III  At  the  Sea-side 7 

IV  Young  Night  Thought 8 

V  Whole  Duty  of  Children 9 

VI  Rain     .    .    .    .    : 10 

VII  Pirate  Story 11 

VIII  Foreign  Lands 12 

*    IX  Windy  Nights 13 

X  Travel 14 

XI  Singing 16 

XII  Looking  Forward 17 

XIII  A  Good  Play IS 

XTV  Where  Go  the  Boats  ? 19 

XV  Auntie's  Skirts 20 

v  XVI  The  Land  op  Counterpane 21 

XVII  The  Land  of  Nod 22 

^XVm  My  Shadow 23 

XIX  System 24 

v 


CONTENTS 

I  PAOE 

XX  A  Good  Boy 25 

XXI  Escape  at  Bedtime 26 

XXII  Marching  Song 27 

XXIII  The  Cow 28 

XXIV  Happy  Thought 29 

•'XXV  The  Wind 30 

XXVI  Keepsake  Mill 31 

XXVII  Good  and  Bad  Children 33 

XXVIII  Foreign  Children 34 

OXXIX  the  Sun's  Travels 35 

XXX  The  Lamplighter 36 

XXXI  My  Bed  is  a  Boat 37 

XXXII  The  Moon 38 

XXXHI  The  Swing 39 

■  XXXIV  Time  to  Rise 40 

XXXV  Looking-glass  River 41 

XXXVI  Fairy  Bread 43 

XXXVII  From  a  Railway  Carriage 44 

XXXVIII  Winter-time 45 

XXXIX  The  Hayloft 46 

XL  Farewell  to  the  Farm 47 

XLI  North-west  Passage 48 

1  Good-night 

2  Shadow  March  f 

3  In  Port 

vi 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  CHILD   ALONE 

I  The  Unseen  Playmate 53 

II  My  Ship  and  I 54 

III  My  Kingdom 55 

IV  Picture-books  in  Winter  ........  57 

V  My  Treasures 58 

VI  Block  City 59 

VII  The  Land  of  Story-books 61 

VIII  Armies  in  the  Fire 63 

IX  The  Little  Land      64 

GARDEN  DAYS 

I  Night  and  Day 69 

II  Nest  Eggs 71 

III  The  Flowers 73 

IV  Summer  Sun 74 

V  The  Dumb  Soldier 75 

VI  Autumn  Fires 77 

VII  The  Gardener 78 

VIII  Historical  Associations 79 

ENVOYS 

I  To  Willie  and  Henrietta  • 83 

II  To  my  Mother 84 

vii 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

in  To  Auntie 85 

IV  To  Minnie 86 

V  To  my  Name-child 89 

VI  To  Any  Reader 91 

UNDERWOODS 
Dedication 95 

Book  I— In  English 

I  Envoy:  Go,  little  book 99 

II  A  Song  of  the  Road:  The  gauger  walked  with 

willing  foot 100 

III  The  Canoe  Speaks:  On  the  great  streams  the 

ships  may  go 102 

IV  It  is  the  season  now  to  go 104 

V  The  House  Beautiful:  A  naked  house,  a  naked 

moor .  106 

VI  A  Visit  from  the  Sea:  Far  from  the  loud  sea 

beaches 108 

VII  To  A  Gardener:  Friend,  in  my  mountain-side 

demesne 109 

VIII  To  Minnie:  A  picture-frame  for  you  to  fill      .     .111 

viii 


COiNTENTS 

PAOE 

IX  To  K.  de  M.:  A  lover  of  the  moorland  bare  .     .112 
X  To  N.  V.  de  G.  S.:  The  unfathomable  sea     .     .  113; 

XI  To  Will.  H.  Low:  Youth  now  flees  on  feathered 

foot 114 

XII  To  Mrs.  Will.  H.  Low:  Even  in  the  bluest  noon- 
day of  July 116 

XIII  To  H.  F.  Brown:  I  sit  and  wait  a  pair  of  oars  .  117 

XIV  To  Andrew  Lang:  Dear  Andrew,  with  the  brin- 

dled hair    119 

XV  Et  Tu  in  Arcadia  Vixisti:  In  ancient  tales,  0 

friend,  thy  spirit  dwelt 121 

XVI  To  W.  E.  Henley:  The  year  runs  through  her 

phases;  rain  and  sun 124 

XVII  Henry  James:  Who  comes  to-night?  .    .    .    .126 
XVIII  The  Mirror  Speaks:  Where  the  bells  peal  far 

at  sea 127 

XIX  Katharine:  We  see  you  as  we  see  a  face     .     .  129 
XX  To  F.  J.  S.:  I  read,  dear  friend,  in  your  dear 

face 130 

XXI  Requiem:  Under  the  wide  and  starry  sky     .     .  131 
XXII  The  Celestial  Surgeon:   If  I  have  faltered 

more  or  less 132 

XXIH  Our  Lady  of  the  Snows:  Out  of  the  sun    .    .  133 

XXIV  Not  yet,  my  soul,  these  friendly  fields  desert     .  136 

XXV  It  is  not  yours,  0  mother,  to  complain     .     .    .  138 


CONTENTS 

PAOE 

XXVI  The  Sick  Child:  0  mother,  lay  your  hand  on 

my  brow 140 

XXVII  In  Memoriam  F.  A.  S.:  Yet,  0  stricken  heart  141 
XXVIII  To  my  Father:  Peace  and  her  huge  invasion  142 
XXIX  In  the  States:  With  half  a  heart  I  wander 

here 144 

XXX  A  Portrait:  I  am  a  kind  of  farthing  dip     .  145 
XXXI  Sing  clearlier,  Muse,  or  evermore  be  still     .  146 

XXXII  A  Camp:  The  bed  was  made,  the  room  was 

fit 147 

XXXIII  The  Country  of  the  Camisards:  We  tra- 

velled in  the  print  of  olden  wars     .     .     .  148 

XXXIV  Skerryvore:  For  love  of  lovely  words    .     .  149 
XXXV  Skerryvore:  The  Parallel:  Here  all  is 

sunny 150 

XXXVI  My  house,  I  say 151 

XXXVII  My  body  which  my  dungeon  is 152 

XXXVIII  Say  not  of  me  that  weakly  I  declined      .     .  154 

Book  II— In  Scots 

I  The  Maker  to  Posterity:  Far  'yont  amang  the 

years  to  be 161 

II  Ille  Terrarum:  Frae  nirly,  nippin',  Eas'lan'  breeze  163 

III  When  aince  Aprile  has  fairly  come 166 

IV  A  Mile  an'  a  Bittock 167 

x 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

V  A  Lowden  Sabbath  Morn:  The  clinkum-clank  o' 

Sabbath  bells 169 

VI  The  Spaewife:  0,  I  wad  like  to  ken 175 

VII  The  Blast— 1875:  It's  rainin'.  Weet's  the  gairden 

sod 177 

VIII  The  Counterblast— 1886:  My  bonny  man,  the 

warld,  it's  true 179 

IX  The  Counterblast  Ironical:  It's  strange  that 

God  should  fash  to  frame 182 

X  Their  Laureate  to  an  Academy  Class  Dinner 

Club:  Dear  Thamson  class,  whaure'er  I  gang  .  184 
XI  Embro  Hie  Kirk:  The  Lord  Himsel'  in  former  days  187 
XII  The  Scotsman's  Return  from  Abroad:  In  mony 

a  foreign  pairt  I've  been 190 

XIII  Late  in  the  nicht  in  bed  I  lay 194 

XIV  My  Conscience:  Of  a'  the  ills  that  flesh  can  fear  197 
XV  To  Dr.  John  Brown:  By  Lyne  and  Tyne,  by 

Thames  and  Tees 199 

XVI  It's  an  owercome  sooth  for  age  an'  youth   .    .     .  202 

Book  III— Songs  of  Travel  and  Other  Verses 

I  The  Vagabond:  Give  to  me  the  life  I  love  .    .    .  205 

II  Youth  and  Love:   I— Once  only  by  the  garden 

gate 207 

xi 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

HI  Youth  and  Love— II:  To  the  heart  of  youth  the 

world  is  a  highwayside 208 

IV  TheUnforgotten— I:  In  dreams,  unhappy,  I  be- 
hold you  stand     ..........  209 

V  The  Unforgotten— II:  She  rested  by  the  Bro- 
ken Brook .:..„,  210 

VI  The  infinite  shining  heavens 211 

VII  Madrigal:  Plain  as  the  glistering  planets  shine  212 
VIII  To  you,  let  snow  and  roses    .......  214 

IX  Let  Beauty  Awake    .         .......  215 

.  X  I  know  not  how  it  is  with  you    ......  216 

XI  I  will  make  you  brooches  and  toys  for  your  delight  217 
XII  We  have  Loved  of  Yore:  Berried  brake  and 

reedy  island 218 

Xm  Ditty:  The  cock  shall  crow 220 

XIV  Mater  Triumph ans:  Son  of  my  woman's  body, 

you  go,  to  the  drum  and  fife  ........  221 

XV  Bright  is  the  ring  of  words 222 

XVI  In  the  highlands,  in  the  country  places    .     .     .  223 
XVII  Wandering  Willie:  Home  no  more  home  to  me, 

whither  must  I  wander  ? .  224 

XVIII  To  Dr.  Hake:  In  the  beloved  hour  that  ushers 

day 226 

XIX  To :  I  knew  thee  strong  and  quiet  like  the 

hills 227 

xii 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

XX  The  morning  drum-call  on  my  eager  ear     .     .  229 

XXI  I  have  trod  the  upward  and  the  downward  slope  230 

XXII  He  hears  with  gladdened  heart  the  thunder    .  231 

XXIII  The  Lost  Occasion:  Farewell,  fair  day  and 

fading  light      .     .     .     , 232 

XXIV  If  this  were  Faith:  God,  if  this  were  enough  233 
XXV  My  Wife:  Trusty,  dusky,  vivid,  true     ...  235 

XXVI  Winter:  In  rigorous  hours,  when  down  the 

iron  lane 236 

XXVII  The  stormy  evening  closes  now  in  vain  .     .     .  237 
XXVIII  To  an  Island   Princess:  Since  long  ago,  a 

child  at  home  .     .     .     . 238 

XXIX  To  Kalakaua:  The  Silver  Ship,  my  King- 
that  was  her  name     .  240 

XXX  To  Princess  Kaiulani:  Forth  from  her  land 

to  mine  she  goes 241 

XXXI  To  Mother  Maryanne:  To  see  the  infinite 

pity  of  this  place 242 

XXXII  In  Memoriam  E  H.:  I  knew  a  silver  head  was 

bright  beyond  compare  .......  243 

XXXIII  To  my  Wife:  Long  must  elapse  ere  you  be- 

hold again *     .     .  244 

XXXIV  To  the  Muse:  Resign  the  rhapsody,  the  dream  246 

XXXV  To  My  Old  Familiars:  Do  you  remember— 

can  we  e'er  forget  ? 247 


xui 


CONTENTS 

TAOE 

XXXVI  The  tropics  vanish,  and  meseems  that  I  .     .  249 
XXXVII  To  S.  C:  I  heard  the  pulse  of  the  besieging 

sea 251 

XXXVIII  The  House  of  Tembinoka:  Let  us,  who  part 

like  brothers 253 

XXXIX  The  Woodman:  In  all  the  grove,  nor  stream 

nor  bird 259 

XL  Tropic  Rain:  As  the  single  pang  of  the  blow, 

when  the  metal  is  mingled  well  ....  265 
XLI  An  End  of  Travel:  Let  now  your  soul  in  this 

substantial  world 267 

XLII  We  uncommiserate  pass  into  the  night    .     .  268 

XLIII  The  Last  Sight:  Once  more  I  saw  him    .     .  269 

XLIV  Sing  me  a  song  of  a  lad  that  is  gone  .     .     .  270 

XLV  To  S.  R.  Crockett:  Blows  the  wind  to-day  .  272 

XL VI  Evensong:  The  embers  of  the  day  are  red  .  273 


J* 


BALLADS 

THE  SONG   OF  RAHERO :   A  Legend  of  Tahiti    .  277 

Dedication:  To  Ori  a  Ori 278 

I  The  Slaying  of  Tamatea 279 

xiv 


CONTENTS 

PAGB 

II  The  Venging  of  Tamatea 289 

ITI  Kahero 301 

Notes  to  the  Song  of  Rahebo 311 

THE  FEAST  OF  FAMINE:   Marquesan  Manners  315 

I  The  Priest's  Vigil 317 

II  The  Lovers . 320 

III  The  Feast 325 

IV  The  Raid 331 

Notes  to  the  Feast  of  Famine 337 

TICONDEROGA  :  A  Legend  of  the  West  Highlands    339 

I  The  Saying  of  the  Name 341 

II  The  Seeking  of  the  Name 347 

III  The  Place  of  the  Name 349 

Notes  to  Ticonderoga 353 

HEATHER  AJL,E :  A  Galloway  Legend 357 

Note  to  Heather  Ale 361 

CHRISTMAS  AT  SEA 363 


XT 


A  CHILD'S  GARDEN  OF  VERSES 


&3L!.  OS"' 


TO 

ALISON  CUNNINGHAM 

From  her  boy 

For  the  long  nights  you  lay  awake 
And  watched  for  my  unworthy  sake: 
For  your  most  comfortable  hand 
That  led  me  through  the  uneven  land: 
For  all  the  story-books  you  read : 
For  all  the  pains  you  comforted  : 
For  all  you  pitied,  all  you  bore, 
In  sad  and  happy  days  of  yore: — 
My  second  Mother,  my  first  Wife, 
The  angel  of  my  infant  life— 
From  the  sick  child,  now  well  and  old, 
Take,  nurse,  the  little  book  you  hold ! 

And  grant  it,  Heaven,  that  all  who  read 
May  find  as  dear  a  nurse  at  need, 
And  every  child  who  lists  my  rhyme, 
In  the  bright,  fireside,  nursery  clime, 
May  hear  it  in  as  kind  a  voice 
As  made  my  childish  days  rejoice! 

R.  L.  S. 


BED   IN   SUMMER 

IN  winter  I  get  up  at  night 
And  dress  by  yellow  candle-light. 
In  summer,  quite  the  other  way, 
I  have  to  go  to  bed  by  day. 

I  have  to  go  to  bed  and  see 
The  birds  still  hopping  on  the  tree. 
Or  hear  the  grown-up  people's  feet 
Still  going  past  me  in  the  street. 

And  does  it  not  seem  hard  to  you, 
When  all  the  sky  is  clear  and  blue, 
And  I  should  like  so  much  to  play, 
To  have  to  go  to  bed  by  day  ? 


n 

A   THOUGHT 

IT  is  very  nice  to  think 
The  world  is  full  of  meat  and  drink, 
With  little  children  saying  grace 
In  every  Christian  kind  of  place. 


Ill 

AT  THE   SEA-SIDE 

WHEN  I  was  down  beside  the  sea 
A  wooden  spade  they  gave  to  me 
To  dig  the  sandy  shore. 

My  holes  were  empty  like  a  cup. 
In  every  hole  the  sea  came  up, 
Till  it  could  come  no  more. 


IV 

YOUNG   NIGHT  THOUGHT 

ALL  night  long  and  every  night, 
.  When  my  mama  puts  out  the  light, 
I  see  the  people  marching  by, 
As  plain  as  day,  before  my  eye. 

Armies  and  emperors  and  kings, 
All  carrying  different  kinds  of  things, 
And  marching  in  so  grand  a  way, 
You  never  saw  the  like  by  day. 

So  fine  a  show  was  never  seen 
At  the  great  circus  on  the  green; 
For  every  kind  of  beast  and  man 
Is  marching  in  that  caravan. 

At  first  they  move  a  little  slow, 
But  still  the  faster  on  they  go, 
And  still  beside  them  close  I  keep 
Until  we  reach  the  Town  of  Sleep. 


WHOLE   DUTY   OF   CHILDREN 

A  CHILD  should  always  say  what's  true 
And  speak  when  he  is  spoken  to, 
And  behave  mannerly  at  table; 
At  least  as  far  as  he  is  able. 


EAIN 

THE  rain  is  raining  all  around. 
It  falls  on  field  and  tree, 
It  rains  on  the  umbrellas  here.. 
And  on  the  ships  at  sea. 


10 


vn 


PIRATE   STORY 


THREE  of  us  afloat  in  the  meadow  by  the  swing, 
Three  of  us  aboard  in  the  basket  on  the  lea. 
Winds  are  in  the  air,  they  are  blowing  in  the  spring, 
And  waves  are  on  the  meadow  like  the  waves  there  are 
at  sea. 

Where  shall  we  adventure,  to-day  that  we're  afloat, 
Wary  of  the  weather  and  steering  by  a  star  ? 

Shall  it  be  to  Africa,  a-steering  of  the  boat, 
To  Providence,  or  Babylon,  or  off  to  Malabar? 


Hi!  but  here's  a  squadron  a-r owing  on  the  sea— 
Cattle  on  the  meadow  a-charging  with  a  roar! 

Quick,  and  we'll  escape  them,  they're  as  mad  as  they  can  be, 
The  wicket  is  the  harbour  and  the  garden  is  the  shore. 


ll 


VIII 

FOREIGN   LANDS 

TP  into  the  cherry  tree 
U    Who  should  climb  but  little  me? 
I  held  the  trunk  with  both  my  hands 
And  looked  abroad  on  foreign  lands. 

I  saw  the  next  door  garden  lie, 
Adorned  with  flowers,  before  my  eye, 
And  many  pleasant  places  more 
That  I  had  never  seen  before. 

I  saw  the  dimpling  river  pass 
And  be  the  sky's  blue  looking-glass; 
The  dusty  roads  go  up  and  down 
With  people  tramping  into  town. 

If  I  could  find  a  higher  tree 
Farther  and  farther  I  should  see, 
To  where  the  grown-up  river  slips 
Into  the  sea  among  the  ships, 

To  where  the  roads  on  either  hand 
Lead  onward  into  fairy  land, 
Where  all  the  children  dine  at  five, 
And  all  the  playthings  come  alive. 


12 


IX 

WINDY   NIGHTS 

WHENEVER  the  moon  and  stars  are  set, 
Whenever  the  wind  is  high, 
All  night  long  in  the  dark  and  wet, 

A  man  goes  riding  by. 
Late  in  the  night  when  the  fires  are  out, 
Why  does  he  gallop  and  gallop  about? 

Whenever  the  trees  are  crying  aloud, 

And  ships  are  tossed  at  sea, 
By,  on  the  highway,  low  and  loud, 

By  at  the  gallop  goes  he. 
By  at  the  gallop  he  goes,  and  then 
By  he  comes  back  at  the  gallop  again. 


13 


X 

TRAVEL 

I  SHOULD  like  to  rise  and  go 
Where  the  golden  apples  grow; — 
Where  below  another  sky 
Parrot  islands  anchored  lie, 
And,  watched  by  cockatoos  and  goats, 
Lonely  Crusoes  building  boats;— 
Where  in  sunshine  reaching  out 
Eastern  cities,  miles  about, 
Are  with  mosque  and  minaret 
Among  sandy  gardens  set, 
And  the  rich  goods  from  near  and  far 
Hang  for  sale  in  the  bazaar;— 
Where  the  Great  Wall  round  China  goes, 
And  on  one  side  the  desert  blows, 
And  with  bell  and  voice  and  drum, 
Cities  on  the  other  hum;— 
Where  are  forests,  hot  as  fire, 
Wide  as  England,  tall  as  a  spire, 
Full  of  apes  and  cocoa-nuts 
And  the  negro  hunters'  huts; — 
Where  the  knotty  crocodile 
Lies  and  blinks  in  the  Nile, 
And  the  red  flamingo  flies 
11 


TRAVEL 

Hunting  fish  before  his  eyes; — 
Where  in  jungles,  near  and  far, 
Man-devouring  tigers  are, 
Lying  close  and  giving  ear 
Lest  the  hunt  be  drawing  near, 
Or  a  comer-by  be  seen 
Swinging  in  a  palanquin;— 
Where  among  the  desert  sands 
Some  deserted  city  stands, 
All  its  children,  sweep  and  prince, 
Grown  to  manhood  ages  since, 
Not  a  foot  in  street  or  house, 
Not  a  stir  of  child  or  mouse, 
And  when  kindly  falls  the  night, 
In  all  the  town  no  spark  of  light. 
There  I'll  come  when  I'm  a  man 
With  a  camel  caravan; 
Light  a  fire  in  the  gloom 
Of  some  dusty  dining  room; 
See  the  pictures  on  the  walls, 
Heroes,  fights  and  festivals; 
And  in  a  corner  find  the  toys 
Of  the  old  Egyptian  boys. 


15 


XI 

SINGING 


OF  speckled  eggs  the  birdie  sings 
And  nests  among  the  trees; 
The  sailor  sings  of  ropes  and  things 
In  ships  upon  the  seas. 

The  children  sing  in  far  Japan, 
The  children  sing  in  Spain; 

The  organ  with  the  organ  man 
Is  singing  in  the  rain. 


16 


XII 

LOOKING   FORWARD 


WHEN  I  am  grown  to  man's  estate 
I  shall  be  very  proud  and  great, 
And  tell  the  other  girls  and  boys 
Not  to  meddle  with  my  toys. 


17 


xm 

A   GOOD   PLAY 

WE  built  a  ship  upon  the  stairs 
All  made  of  the  back-bedroom  chairs, 
And  filled  it  full  of  sofa  pillows 
To  go  a-sailing  on  the  billows. 

We  took  a  saw  and  several  nails, 
And  water  in  the  nursery  pails; 
And  Tom  said,  « Let  us  also  take 
An  apple  and  a  slice  of  cake;»  — 
Which  was  enough  for  Tom  and  me 
To  go  a-sailing  on,  till  tea. 

We  sailed  along  for  days  and  days, 
And  had  the  very  best  of  plays; 
But  Tom  fell  out  and  hurt  his  knee, 
So  there  was  no  one  left  but  me. 


18 


• 


XIV 

WHERE  GO   THE  BOATS? 

DARK  brown  is  the  river, 
Golden  is  the  sand. 
It  flows  along  for  eter, 
With  trees  on  either  hand. 

Green  leaves  a-floating, 
Castles  of  the  foam, 

Boats  of  mine  a-boating — 
Where  will  all  come  home? 

On  goes  the  river 
And  out  past  the  mill, 

Away  down  the  valley, 
Away  down  the  hill. 

Away  down  the  river, 
A  hundred  miles  or  more, 

Other  little  children 
Shall  bring  my  boats  ashore 


19 


xv 

auntie's  skirts 


WHENEVER  Auntie  moves  around, 
Her  dresses  make  a  curious  sound; 
They  trail  behind  her  up  the  floor, 
And  trundle  after  through  the  door. 


20 


XVI 

THE  LAND   OF  COUNTERPANE 

WHEN  I  was  sick  and  lay  a-bed, 
I  had  two  pillows  at  my  head, 
And  all  my  toys  beside  me  lay 
To  keep  me  happy  all  the  day. 

And  sometimes  for  an  hour  or  so 
I  watched  my  leaden  soldiers  go, 
With  different  uniforms  and  drills, 
Among  the  bed-clothes,  through  the  hills. 

And  sometimes  sent  my  ships  in  fleets 
All  up  and  down  among  the  sheets; 
Or  brought  my  trees  and  houses  out, 
And  planted  cities  all  about. 

I  was  the  giant  great  and  still 
That  sits  upon  the  pillow-hill, 
And  sees  before  him,  dale  and  plain, 
The  pleasant  Land  of  Counterpane. 


21 


xvn 

THE   LAND   OF   NOD 

FROM  breakfast  on  through  all  the  day 
At  home  among  my  friends  I  stay, 
But  every  night  I  go  abroad 
Afar  into  the  Land  of  Nod. 

All  by  myself  I  have  to  go, 

With  none  to  tell  me  what  to  do— 

All  alone  beside  the  streams 

And  up  the  mountain-sides  of  dreams. 

The  strangest  things  are  there  for  me, 
Both  things  to  eat  and  things  to  see, 
And  many  frightening  sights  abroad 
Till  morning  in  the  Land  of  Nod. 

Try  as  I  like  to  find  the  way, 
I  never  can  get  back  by  day, 
Nor  can  remember  plain  and  clear 
The  curious  music  that  I  hear. 


22 


xvm 

MY   SHADOW 

I  HAVE  a  little  shadow  that  goes  in  and  out  with  me, 
And  what  can  be  the  use  of  him  is  more  than  I  can  see. 
He  is  very,  very  like  me  from  the  heels  up  to  the  head; 
And  I  see  him  jump  before  me,  when  I  jump  into  my  bed. 

The  funniest  thing  about  him  is  the  way  he  likes  to  grow — 
Not  at  all  like  proper  children,  which  is  always  very  slow; 
For  he  sometimes  shoots  up  taller  like  an  india-rubber  ball, 
And  he  sometimes  gets  so  little  that  there's  none  of  him  at 
all. 

He  hasn't  got  a  notion  of  how  children  ought  to  play, 
And  can  only  make  a  fool  of  me  in  every  sort  of  way. 
He  stays  so  close  beside  me,  he's  a  coward  you  can  see; 
I'd  think  shame  to  stick  to  nursie  as  that  shadow  sticks  to 
me! 

One  morning,  very  early,  before  the  sun  was  up, 
I  rose  and  found  the  shining  dew  on  every  buttercup; 
But  my  lazy  little  shadow,  like  an  arrant  sleepy-head, 
Had  stayed  at  home  behind  me  and  was  fast  asleep  in  bed. 


23 


XIX 

SYSTEM 

EVERY  night  my  prayers  I  say, 
And  get  my  dinner  every  day; 
And  every  day  that  I've  been  good, 
I  get  an  orange  after  food. 

The  child  that  is  not  clean  and  neat, 
With  lots  of  toys  and  things  to  eat, 
He  is  a  naughty  child,  I'm  sure— 
Or  else  his  dear  papa  is  poor. 


24 


I 


XX 

A   GOOD   BOY 

WOKE  before  the  morning,  I  was  happy  all  the  day, 
I  never  said  an  ugly  word,  but  smiled  and  stuck  to  play. 


And  now  at  last  the  sun  is  going  down  behind  the  wood, 
And  I  am  very  happy,  for  I  know  that  I've  been  good. 

My  bed  is  waiting  cool  and  fresh,  with  linen  smooth  and  fair, 
And  I  must  off  to  sleepsin-by,  and  not  forget  my  prayer. 

I  know  that,  till  to-morrow  I  shall  see  the  sun  arise, 

No  ugly  dream  shall  fright  my  mind,  no  ugly  sight  my  eyes. 

But  slumber  hold  me  tightly  till  I  waken  in  the  dawn, 
And  hear  the  thrushes  singing  in  the  lilacs  round  the  lawn. 


25 


XXI 

ESCAPE   AT   BEDTIME 

THE  lights  from  the  parlour  and  kitchen  shone  out 
Through  the  blinds  and  the  windows  and  bars; 
And  high  overhead  and  all  moving  about, 

There  were  thousands  of  millions  of  stars. 
There  ne'er  were  such  thousands  of  leaves  on  a  tree, 

Nor  of  people  in  church  or  the  Park, 
As  the  crowds  of  the  stars  that  looked  down  upon  me, 
And  that  glittered  and  winked  in  the  dark. 

The  Dog,  and  the  Plough,  and  the  Hunter,  and  all, 

And  the  star  of  the  sailor,  and  Mars, 
These  shone  in  the  sky,  and  the  pail  by  the  wall 

Would  be  half  full  of  water  and  stars. 
They  saw  me  at  last,  and  they  chased  me  with  cries, 

And  they  soon  had  me  packed  into  bed; 
But  the  glory  kept  shining  and  bright  in  my  eyes, 

And  the  stars  going  round  in  my  head. 


26 


xxn 


MARCHING    SONG 


BRING  the  comb  and  play  upon  it! 
Marching,  here  we  come ! 
Willie  cocks  his  highland  bonnet, 
Johnnie  beats  the  drum. 

Mary  Jane  commands  the  party, 

Peter  leads  the  rear; 
Feet  in  time,  alert  and  hearty, 

Each  a  Grenadier! 

All  in  the  most  martial  manner 

Marching  double-quick; 
While  the  napkin  like  a  banner 

Waves  upon  the  stick! 

Here's  enough  of  fame  and  pillage, 

Great  commander  Jane! 
Now  that  we've  been  round  the  village, 

Let's  go  home  again. 


27 


XXHI 

THE   COW 

THE  friendly  cow  all  red  and  white, 
I  love  with  all  my  heart: 
She  gives  me  cream  with  all  her  might, 
To  eat  with  apple-tart. 

She  wanders  lowing  here  and  there, 

And  yet  she  cannot  stray, 
All  in  the  pleasant  open  air, 

The  pleasant  light  of  day; 

And  blown  by  all  the  winds  that  pass 
And  wet  with  all  the  showers, 

She  walks  among  the  meadow  grass 
And  eats  the  meadow  flowers. 


28 


XXIV 

HAPPY  THOUGHT 


THE  world  is  so  full  of  a  number  of  things, 
I'm  sure  we  should  all  be  as  happy  as  kings. 


29 


XXV 

THE   WIND 

I  SAW  you  toss  the  kites  on  high 
And  blow  the  birds  about  the  sky; 
And  all  around  I  heard  you  pass, 
Like  ladies'  skirts  across  the  grass— 
0  wind,  a-blowing  all  day  long, 
0  wind,  that  sings  so  loud  a  song! 

I  saw  the  different  things  you  did, 
But  always  you  yourself  you  hid. 
I  felt  you  push,  I  heard  you  call, 
I  could  not  see  yourself  at  all— 
0  wind,  a-blowing  all  day  long, 
0  wind,  that  sings  so  loud  a  song! 

0  you  that  are  so  strong  and  cold, 
0  blower,  are  you  young  or  old? 
Are  you  a  beast  of  field  and  tree, 
Or  just  a  stronger  child  than  me? 
0  wind,  a-blowing  all  day  long, 
0  wind,  that  sings  so  loud  a  song! 


XXVI 

KEEPSAKE   MILL 

OVER  the  borders,  a  sin  without  pardon, 
Breaking  the  branches  and  crawling  below, 
Out  through  the  breach  in  the  wall  of  the  garden, 
Down  by  the  banks  of  the  river,  we  go. 

Here  is  the  mill  with  the  humming  of  thunder, 
Here  is  the  weir  with  the  wonder  of  foam, 

Here  is  the  sluice  with  the  race  running  under- 
Marvellous  places,  though  handy  to  home ! 

Sounds  of  the  village  grow  stiller  and  stiller, 
Stiller  the  note  of  the  birds  on  the  hill; 

Dusty  and  dim  are  the  eyes  of  the  miller, 
Deaf  are  his  ears  with  the  moil  of  the  mill. 

Years  may  go  by,  and  the  wheel  in  the  river 
Wheel  as  it  wheels  for  us,  children,  to-day, 

Wheel  and  keep  roaring  and  ll&ming  for  ever- 
Long  after  all  of  the  boys  are  away. 

Home  from  the  Indies  and  home  from  the  ocean, 
Heroes  and  soldiers  we  all  shall  come  home; 

Still  we  shall  find  the  old  mill  wheel  in  motion, 
Turning  and  churning  that  river  to  foam. 
31 


A   CHILD'S   GARDEN   OF   VERSES 

You  with  the  bean  that  I  gave  when  we  quarrelled, 
I  with  your  marble  of  Saturday  last, 

Honoured  and  old  and  all  gaily  apparelled, 
Here  we  shall  meet  and  remember  the  past. 


32 


xxvn 

GOOD   AND   BAD   CHILDREN 

CHILDREN,  you  are  very  little, 
And  your  bones  are  very  brittle; 
If  you  would  grow  great  and  stately, 
You  must  try  to  walk  sedately. 

You  must  still  be  bright  and  quiet, 
And  content  with  simple  diet; 
And  remain,  through  all  bewild'ring, 
Innocent  and  honest  children. 

Happy  hearts  and  happy  faces, 
Happy  play  in  grassy  places— 
That  was  how,  in  ancient  ages, 
Children  grew  to  kings  and  sages. 

But  the  unkind  and  the  unruly, 
And  the  sort  who  eat  unduly, 
They  must  never  hope  for  glory— 
Theirs  is  quite  a  different  story! 

Cruel  children,  crying  babies, 
All  grow  up  as  geese  and  gabies, 
Hated,  as  their  age  increases, 
By  their  nephews  and  their  nieces. 


33 


XXVIII 

FOREIGN   CHILDREN 

LITTLE  Indian,  Sioux  or  Crow, 
J  Little  frosty  Eskimo, 
Little  Turk  or  Japanee, 
0!  don't  you  wish  that  you  were  me? 

You  have  seen  the  scarlet  trees 
And  the  lions  over  seas; 
You  have  eaten  ostrich  eggs, 
And  turned  the  turtles  off  their  legs. 

Such  a  life  is  very  fine, 
But  it's  not  so  nice  as  mine: 
You  must  often,  as  you  trod, 
Have  wearied  not  to  be  abroad. 

You  have  curious  things  to  eat, 
I  am  fed  on  proper  meat; 
You  must  dwell  beyond  the  foam, 
But  I  am  safe  and  live  at  home. 

Little  Indian,  Sioux  or  Crow, 

Little  frosty  Eskimo, 

Little  Turk  or  Japanee, 
0!  don't  you  wish  that  you  were  me? 


34 


XXIX 

THE   SUN'S   TRAVELS 

THE  sun  is  not  a-bed,  when  I 
At  night  upon  my  pillow  lie; 
Still  round  the  earth  his  way  he  takes, 
And  morning  after  morning  makes. 

While  here  at  home,  in  shining  day, 
We  round  the  sunny  garden  play, 
Each  little  Indian  sleepy-head 
Is  being  kissed  and  put  to  bed. 

And  when  at  eve  I  rise  from  tea, 
Day  dawns  beyond  the  Atlantic  Sea; 
And  all  the  children  in  the  West 
Are  getting  up  and  being  dressed. 


36 


XXX 

THE   LAMPLIGHTER 

MY  tea  is  nearly  ready  and  the  sun  has  left  the  sky; 
It's  time  to  take  the  window  to  see  Leerie  going  by; 
For  every  night  at  teatime  and  before  you  take  your  seat, 
With  lantern  and  with  ladder  he  comes  posting  up  the  street 

Now  Tom  would  be  a  driver  and  Maria  go  to  sea, 

And  my  papa's  a  banker  and  as  rich  as  he  can  be; 

But  I,  when  I  am  stronger  and  can  choose  what  I'm  to  do, 

0  Leerie,  I'll  go  round  at  night  and  light  the  lamps  with  you! 

For  we  are  very  lucky,  with  a  lamp  before  the  door, 
And  Leerie  stops  to  light  it  as  he  lights  so  many  more; 
And  0!  before  you  hurry  by  with  ladder  and  with  light, 
0  Leerie,  see  a  little  child  and  nod  to  him  to-night! 


3« 


XXXI 

MY   BED   IS   A   BOAT 

MY  bed  is  like  a  little  boat; 
Nurse  helps  me  in  when  I  embark; 
She  girds  me  in  my  sailor's  coat 
And  starts  me  in  the  dark. 

At  night,  I  .go  on  board  and  say 
Good-night  to  all  my  friends  on  shore; 
I  shut  my  eyes  and  sail  away 
And  see  and  hear  no  more. 

And  sometimes  things  to  bed  I  take, 
As  prudent  sailors  have  to  do; 

Perhaps  a  slice  of  wedding-cake, 
Perhaps  a  toy  or  two. 

All  night  across  the  dark  we  steer; 

But  when  the  day  returns  at  last, 
Safe  in  my  room,  beside  the  pier, 

I  find  my  vessel  fast. 


37 


xxxn 


THE   MOON 


THE  moon  has  a  face  like  the  clock  in  the  hall; 
She  shines  on  thieves  on  the  garden  wall, 
On  streets  and  fields  and  harbour  quays, 
And  birdies  asleep  in  the  forks  of  the  trees. 

The  squalling  cat  and  the  squeaking  mouse, 
The  howling  dog  by  the  door  of  the  house, 
The  bat  that  lies  in  bed  at  noon, 
All  love  to  be  out  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 

But  all  of  the  things  that  belong  to  the  day 
Cuddle  to  sleep  to  be  out  of  her  way; 
And  flowers  and  children  close  their  eyes 
Till  up  in  the  morning  the  sun  shall  arise. 


38 


xxxm 

THE    SWING 

HOW  do  you  like  to  go  up  in  a  swing, 
Up  in  the  air  so  blue? 
Oh,  I  do  think  it  the  pleasantest  thing 
Ever  a  child  can  do! 

Up  in  the  air  and  over  the  wall, 

Till  I  can  see  so  wide, 
Rivers  and  trees  and  cattle  and  all 

Over  the  countryside — 

Till  I  look  down  on  the  garden  green, 
Down  on  the  roof  so  brown — 

Up  in  the  air  I  go  flying  again, 
Up  in  the  air  and  down! 


39 


XXXIV 


TIME    TO    RISE 


ABIKDIE  with  a  yellow  bill 
Hopped  upon  the  window-sill, 
Cocked  his  shining  eye  and  said: 

*  Ain't  you  'shamed,  you  sleepy-head ! » 


40 


XXXV 

LOOKING-GLASS    RIVER 

SMOOTH  it  slides  upon  its  travel, 
Here  a  wimple,  there  a  gleam — 
0  the  clean  gravel! 
0  the  smooth  stream! 

Sailing  blossoms,  silver. fishes, 
Paven  pools  as  clear  as  air — 
How  a  child  wishes 
To  live  down  there! 

We  can  see  our  coloured  faces 
Floating  on  the  shaken  pool 
Down  in  cool  places, 
Dim  and  very  cool; 

Till  a  wind  or  water  wrinkle, 
Dipping  marten,  plumping  trout, 
Spreads  in  a  twinkle 
And  blots  all  out. 

See  the  rings  pursue  each  other; 
All  below  grows  black  as  night, 
Just  as  if  mother 
Had  blown  out  the  light! 

11 


A   CHILD'S   GARDEN   OF   VERSES 

Patience,  children,  just  a  minute— 
See  the  spreading  circles  die; 
The  stream  and  all  in  it 
Will  clear  by-and-by. 


42 


XXXVI 

FAIRY    BREAD 

COME  up  here,  0  dusty  feet! 
Here  is  fairy  bread  to  eat. 
Here  in  my  retiring  room, 
Children,  you  may  dine 
On  the  golden  smell  of  broom 

And  the  shade  of  pine; 
And  when  you  have  eaten  well, 
Fairy  stories  hear  and  tell. 


43 


XXXVII 

FROM    A    RAILWAY    CARRIAGE 

FASTER  than  fairies,  faster  than  witches, 
Bridges  and  houses,  hedges  and  ditches; 
And  charging  along  like  troops  in  a  battle, 
All  through  the  meadows  the  horses  and  cattle: 
All  of  the  sights  of  the  hill  and  the  plain 
Fly  as  thick  as  driving  rain; 
And  ever  again,  in  the  wink  of  an  eye, 
Painted  stations  whistle  by. 

Here  is  a  child  who  clambers  and  scrambles,— 
All  by  himself  and  gathering  brambles; 
Here  is  a  tramp  who  stands  and  gazes; 
And  there  is  the  green  for  stringing  the  daisies! 
Here  is  a  cart  run  away  in  the  road 
Lumping  along  with  man  and  load; 
And  here  is  a  mill  and  there  is  a  river: 
Each  a  glimpse  and  gone  for  ever! 


44 


xxx  vni 

WINTER-TIME 

1ATE  lies  the  wintry  sun  a-bed, 
j  A  frosty,  fiery  sleepy-head; 
Blinks  but  an  hour  dr  two;  and  then, 
A  blood-red  orange,  sets  again. 

Before  the  stars  have  left  the  skies, 
At  morning  in  the  dark  I  rise; 
And  shivering  in  my  nakedness, 
By  the  cold  candle,  bathe  and  dress. 

Close  by  the  jolly  fire  I  sit 
To  warm  my  frozen  bones  a  bit; 
Or  with  a  reindeer-sled,  explore 
The  colder  countries  round  the  door. 

When  to  go  out,  my  nurse  doth  wrap 
Me  in  my  comforter  and  cap; 
The  cold  wind  burns  my  face,  and  blows 
Its  frosty  pepper  up  my  nose. 

Black  are  my  steps  on  silver  sod; 
Thick  blows  my  frosty  breath  abroad; 
And  tree  and  house,  and  hill  and  lake, 
Are  frosted  like  a  wedding-cake. 


45 


XXXIX 


THE   HAYLOFT 


THROUGH  all  the  pleasant  meadow-side 
The  grass  grew  shoulder-high, 
Till  the  shining  scythes  went  far  and  wide 
And  cut  it  down  to  dry. 

These  green  and  sweetly  smelling  crops 

They  led  in  waggons  home; 
And  they  piled  them  here  in  mountain-tops 

For  mountaineers  to  roam. 

Here  is  Mount  Clear,  Mount  Rusty-Nail, 
Mount  Eagle  and  Mount  High;— 

The  mice  that  in  these  mountains  dwell, 
No  happier  are  than  I! 

0  what  a  joy  to  clamber  there, 

0  what  a  place  for  play, 
With  the  sweet,  the  dim,  the  dusty  air, 

The  happy  hills  of  hay! 


46 


XL 

FAREWELL   TO   THE   FARM 

THE  coach  is  at  the  door  at  last; 
The  eager  children,  mounting  fast 
And  kissing  hands,  in  chorus  sing: 
Good-bye,  good-bye,  to  everything! 

To  house  and  garden,  field  and  lawn, 
The  meadow-gates  we  swang  upon, 
To  pump  and  stable,  tree  and  swing, 
Good-bye,  good-bye,  to  everything! 

And  fare  you  well  for  evermore, 
0  ladder  at  the  hayloft  door, 
0  hayloft  where  the  cobwebs  cling, 
Good-bye,  good-bye,  to  everything! 

Crack  goes  the  whip,  and  off  we  go; 
The  trees  and  houses  smaller  grow; 
Last,  round  the  woody  turn  we  swing: 
Good-bye,  good-bye,  to  everything! 


47 


XLI 
NORTH-WEST   PASSAGE 

1.       ROOD-NIGHT. 

WHEN  the  bright  lamp  is  carried  in, 
The  sunless  hours  again  begin; 
O'er  all  without,  in  field  and  lane, 
The  haunted  night  returns  again. 

Now  we  behold  the  embers  flee 
About  the  firelit  hearth;  and  see 
Our  faces  painted  as  we  pass, 
Like  pictures,  on  the  window-glass. 

Must  we  to  bed  indeed  ?     Well  then, 
Let  us  arise  and  go  like  men, 
And  face  with  an  undaunted  tread 
The  long  black  passage  up  to  bed. 

Farewell,  0  brother,  sister,  sire! 
0  pleasant  party  round  the  fire! 
The  songs  you  sing,  the  tales  you  tell, 
Till  far  to-morrow,  fare  ye  well! 


48 


2.      SHADOW   MARCH. 


All  round  the  house  is  the  jet-black  night; 

It  stares  through  the  window-pane; 
It  crawls  in  the  corners,  hiding  from  the  light, 

And  it  moves  with  the  moving  flame. 

Now  my  little  heart  goes  a-beating  like  a  drum, 
With  the  breath  of  the  Bogie  in  my  hair; 

And  all  round  the  candle  the  crooked  shadows  come, 
And  go  marching  along  up  the  stair. 

The  shadow  of  the  balusters,  the  shadow  of  the  lamp, 
The  shadow  of  the  child  that  goes  to  bed— 

All  the  wicked  shadows  coming,  tramp,  tramp,  tramp, 
With  the  black  night  overhead. 


49 


3.      IN   PORT. 

Last,  to  the  chamber  where  I  lie 
My  fearful  footsteps  patter  nigh, 
And  come  from  out  the  cold  and  gloom 
Into  my  warm  and  cheerful  room. 

There,  safe  arrived,  we  turn  about 
To  keep  the  coming  shadows  out, 
And  close  the  happy  door  at  last 
On  all  the  perils  that  we  past. 

Then,  when  mama  goes  by  to  bed, 
She  shall  come  in  with  tip-toe  tread, 
And  see  me  lying  warm  and  fast 
And  in  the  Land  of  Nod  at  last. 


w 


THE  CHILD  ALONE 


THE    UNSEEN   PLAYMATE 

WHEN  children  are  playing  alone  on  the  green, 
In  comes  the  playmate  that  never  was  seen. 
When  children  are  happy  and  lonely  and  good, 
The  Friend  of  the  Children  comes  out  of  the  wood. 

Nobody  heard  him  and  nobody  saw, 

His  is  a  picture  you  never  could  draw, 

But  he's  sure  to  be  present,  abroad  or  at  home, 

When  children  are  happy  and  playing  alone. 

He  lies  in  the  laurels,  he  runs  on  the  grass, 
He  sings  when  you  tinkle  the  musical  glass; 
Whene'er  you  are  happy  and  cannot  tell  why, 
The  Friend  of  the  Children  is  sure  to  be  by! 

He  loves  to  be  little,  he  hates  to  be  big, 
'Tis  he  that  inhabits  the  caves  that  you  dig; 
'Tis  he  when  you  play  with  your  soldiers  of  tin 
That  sides  with  the  Frenchmen  and  never  can  win. 

"  'Tis  he,  when  at  night  you  go  off  to  your  bed, 
Bids  you  go  to  your  sleep  and  not  trouble  your  head; 
For  wherever  they're  lying,  in  cupboard  or  shelf, 
'Tis  he  will  take  care  of  your  playthings  himself! 


53 


n 


MY    SHIP    AND    I 


OITS  I  that  am  the  captain  of  a  tidy  little  ship, 
Of  a  ship  that  goes  a-sailing  on  the  pond; 
And  my  ship  it  keeps  a-turning  all  around  and  all  about; 
But  when  I'm  a  little  older,  I  shall  find  the  secret  out 
How  to  send  my  vessel  sailing  on  beyond. 

For  I  mean  to  grow  as  little  as  the  dolly  at  the  helm, 

And  the  dolly  I  intend  to  come  alive; 
And  with  him  beside  to  help  me,  it's  a-sailing  I  shall  go, 
It's  a-sailing  on  the  water,  when  the  jolly  breezes  blow 

And  the  vessel  goes  a  divie-divie-dive. 

0  it's  then  you'll  see  me  sailing  through  the  rushes  and  the 
reeds, 

And  you'll  hear  the  water  singing  at  the  prow; 
For  beside  the  dolly  sailor,  I'm  to  voyage  and  explore, 
To  land  upon  the  island  where  no  dolly  was  before, 

And  to  fire  the  penny  cannon  in  the  bow. 


51 


m 

MY   KINGDOM 

DOWN  by  a  shining  water  well 
I  found  a  very  little  dell, 
No  higher  than  my  head. 
The  heather  and  the  gorse  about 
In  summer  bloom  were  coming  out, 
Some  yellow  and  some  red. 

I  called  the  little  pool  a  sea; 
The  little  hills  were  big  to  me; 

For  I  am  very  small. 
I  made  a  boat,  I  made  a  town, 
I  searched  the  caverns  up  and  down, 

And  named  them  one  and  all. 

And  all  about  was  mine,  I  said, 
The  little  sparrows  overhead, 

The  little  minnows  too. 
This  was  the  world  and  I  was  king; 
For  me  the  bees  came  by  to  sing, 

For  me  the  swallows  flew. 

55 


A   CHILD'S  GARDEN   OF  VERSES 

I  played  there  were  no  deeper  seas, 
Nor  any  wider  plains  than  these, 

Nor  other  kings  than  me. 
At  last  I  heard  my  mother  call 
Out  from  the  house  at  evenfall, 

To  call  me  home  to  tea. 

And  I  must  rise  and  leave  my  dell, 
And  leave  my  dimpled  water  well, 

And  leave  my  heather  blooms. 
Alas!  and  as  my  home  I  neared, 
How  very  big  my  nurse  appeared, 

How  great  and  cool  the  rooms! 


66 


IV 

PICTURE-BOOKS   IN   WINTER 

SUMMER  fading,  winter  comes— 
Frosty  mornings,  tingling  thumbs, 
Window  robins,  winter  rooks, 
And  the  picture  story-books. 

Water  now  is  turned  to  stone 
Nurse  and  I  can  walk  upon; 
Still  we  find  the  flowing  brooks 
In  the  picture  story-books. 

All  the  pretty  things  put  by, 
Wait  upon  the  children's  eye, 
Sheep  and  shepherds,  trees  and  crooks, 
In  the  picture  story-books. 

We  may  see  how  all  things  are 
Seas  and  cities,  near  and  far, 
And  the  flying  fairies'  looks, 
In  the  picture  story-books. 

How  am  I  to  sing  your  praise, 
Happy  chimney-corner  days, 
Sitting  safe  in  nursery  nooks, 
Reading  picture  story-books  ? 


67 


MY   TREASURES 

THESE  nuts,  that  I  keep  in  the  back  of  the  nest 
Where  all  my  lead  soldiers  are  lying  at  rest, 
Were  gathered  in  autumn  by  nursie  and  me 
In  a  wood  with  a  well  by  the  side  of  the  sea. 

This  whistle  we  made  (and  how  clearly  it  sounds!) 
By  the  side  of  a  field  at  the  end  of  the  grounds. 
Of  a  branch  of  a  plane,  with  a  knife  of  my  own, 
It  was  nursie  who  made  it,  and  nursie  alone! 

The  stone,  with  the  white  and  the  yellow  and  grey, 
We  discovered  I  cannot  tell  how  far  away; 
And  I  carried  it  back  although  weary  and  cold, 
For  though  father  denies  it,  I'm  sure  it  is  gold. 

But  of  all  my  treasures  the  last  is  the  king, 
For  there's  very  few  children  possess  such  a  thing; 
And  that  is  a  chisel,  both  handle  and  blade, 
Which  a  man  who  was  really  a  carpenter  made. 


66 


VI 

BLOCK   CITY 

WHAT  are  you  able  to  build  with  your  blocks  ? 
Castles  and  palaces,  temples  and  docks. 
Rain  may  keep  raining,  and  others  go  roam, 
But  I  can  be  happy  and  building  at  home. 

Let  the  sofa  be  mountains,  the  carpet  be  sea, 

There  I'll  establish  a  city  for  me: 

A  kirk  and  a  mill  and  a  palace  beside, 

And  a  harbour  as  well  where  my  vessels  may  ride. 

Great  is  the  palace  with  pillar  and  wall, 
A  sort  of  a  tower  on  the  top  of  it  all, 
And  steps  coming  down  in  an  orderly  way 
To  where  my  toy  vessels  lie  safe  in  the  bay. 

This  one  is  sailing  and  that  one  is  moored: 
Hark  to  the  song  of  the  sailors  on  board! 
And  see  on  the  steps  of  my  palace,  the  kings 
Coming  and  going  with  presents  and  things! 

Now  I  have  done  with  it,  down  let  it  go! 
All  in  a  moment  the  town  is  laid  low. 
Block  upon  block  lying  scattered  and  free, 
What  is  there  left  of  my  town  by  the  sea  1 
69 


A   CHILD'S  GARDEN   OF   VERSES 

Yet  as  I  saw  it,  I  see  it  again, 
The  kirk  and  the  palace,  the  ships  and  the  men, 
And  as  long  as  I  live  and  where'er  I  may  be, 
I'll  always  remember  my  town  by  the  sea. 


60 


vn 

THE   LAND   OF   STORY-BOOKS 

A  T  evening  when  the  lamp  is  lit, 
XJL  Around  the  fire  my  parents  sit; 
They  sit  at  home  and  talk  and  sing, 
And  do  not  play  at  anything. 

Now,  with  my  little  gun,  I  crawl 
All  in  the  dark  along  the  wall, 
And  follow  round  the  forest  track 
Away  behind  the  sofa  back. 

There,  in  the  night,  where  none  can  spy, 
All  in  my  hunter's  camp  I  lie, 
And  play  at  books  that  I  have  read 
Till  it  is  time  to  go  to  bed. 

These  are  the  hills,  these  are  the  woods, 
These  are  my  starry  solitudes; 
And  there  the  river  by  whose  brink 
The  roaring  lions  come  to  drink. 

I  see  the  others  far  away 
As  if  in  firelit  camp  they  lay, 
And  I,  like  to  an  Indian  scout, 
Around  their  party  prowled  about. 

61 


A  CHILD'S  GARDEN  OF  VERSES 

So,  when  my  nurse  comes  in  for  me, 
Home  I  return  across  the  sea, 
And  go  to  bed  with  backward  looks 
At  my  dear  Land  of  Story-books. 


62 


vm 

ARMIES   IN   THE   FIRE 

THE  lamps  now  glitter  down  the  street; 
Faintly  sound  the  falling  feet; 
And  the  blue  even  slowly  falls 
About  the  garden  trees  and  walls. 

Now  in  the  falling  of  the  gloom 
The  red  fire  paints  the  empty  room: 
And  warmly  on  the  roof  it  looks, 
And  flickers  on  the  backs  of  books. 

Armies  march  by  tower  and  spire 
Of  cities  blazing,  in  the  fire;— 
Till  as  I  gaze  with  staring  eyes, 
The  armies  fade,  the  lustre  dies. 

Then  once  again  the  glow  returns; 
Again  the  phantom  city  burns; 
And  down  the  red-hot  valley,  lo! 
The  phantom  armies  marching  go! 

Blinking  embers,  tell  me  true 
Where  are  those  armies  marching  to, 
And  what  the  burning  city  is 
That  crumbles  in  your  furnaces! 


68 


IX 

THE   LITTLE   LAND 

WHEN  at  home  alone  I  sit 
And  am  very  tired  of  it, 
I  have  just  to  shut  my  eyes 
To  go  sailing  through  the  skies — 
To  go  sailing  far  away 
To  the  pleasant  Land  of  Play; 
To  the  fairy  land  afar 
Where  the  Little  People  are; 
Where  the  clover-tops  are  trees, 
And  the  rain-pools  are  the  seas, 
And  the  leaves  like  little  ships 
Sail  about  on  tiny  trips; 
And  above  the  daisy  tree 

Through  the  grasses, 
High  o'erhead  the  Bumble  Bee 

Hums  and  passes. 

In  that  forest  to  and  fro 
I  can  wander,  I  can  go; 
See  the  spider  and  the  fly, 
And  the  ants  go  marching  by 
Carrying  pareels  with  their  feet 
Down  the  green  and  grassy  street. 

64 


THE  LITTLE  LAND 

I  can  in  the  sorrel  sit 

Where  the  ladybird  alit. 
I  can  climb  the  jointed  grass; 

And  on  high 
See  the  greater  swallows  pass 

In  the  sky, 
And  the  round  sun  rolling  by 
Heeding  no  such  things  as  I. 

Through  that  forest  I  can  pass 
Till,  as  in  a  looking-glass, 
Humming  fly  and  daisy  tree 
And  my  tiny  self  I  see, 
Painted  very  clear  and  neat 
On  the  rain-pool  at  my  feet. 
Should  a  leaflet  come  to  land 
Drifting  near  to  where  I  stand, 
Straight  I'll  board  that  tiny  boat 
Round  the  rain-pool  sea  to  float. 

Little  thoughtful  creatures  sit 
On  the  grassy  coasts  of  it; 
Little  things  with  lovely  eyes 
See  me  sailing  with  surprise. 
Some  are  clad  in  armour  green— 
(These  have  sure  to  battle  been!)— 
Some  are  pied  with  ev'ry  hue, 
Black  and  crimson,  gold  and  blue; 
Some  have  wings  and  swift  are  gone;- 
But  they  all  look  kindly  on. 
65 


A   CHILD'S   GARDEN   OF   VERSES 

When  my  eyes  I  once  again 
Open,  and  see  all  things  plain: 
High  bare  walls,  great  bare  floor; 
Great  big  knobs  on  drawer  and  door; 
Great  big  people  perched  on  chairs, 
Stitching  tucks  and  mending  tears, 
Each  a  hill  that  I  could  climb, 
And  talking  nonsense  all  the  time — 

0  dear  me, 

That  I  could  be 
A  sailor  on  the  rain-pool  sea, 
A  climber  in  the  clover  tree, 
And  just  come  back,  a  sieepy-head, 
Late  at  night  to  go  to  bed. 


66 


GARDEN  DAYS 


NIGHT  AND  DAT 

WHEN  the  golden  day  is  done, 
Through  the  closing  portal, 
Child  and  garden,  flower  and  sun, 
Vanish  all  things  mortal. 

As  the  blinding  shadows  fall 

As  the  rays  diminish, 
Under  evening's  cloak,  they  all 

Roll  away  and  vanish. 

Garden  darkened,  daisy  shut, 
Child  in  bed,  they  slumber— 

Glow-worm  in  the  highway  rut, 
Mice  among  the  lumber. 

In  the  darkness  houses  shine, 
Parents  move  with  candles; 

Till  on  all,  the  night  divine 
Turns  the  bedroom  handles. 

Till  at  last  the  day  begins 
In  the  east  a-breaking, 

In  the  hedges  and  the  whins 
Sleeping  birds  a-waking. 

69 


A   CHILD'S   GARDEN   OF   VERSES 

In  the  darkness  shapes  of  things, 
Houses,  trees  and  hedges, 

Clearer  grow;  and  sparrow's  wings 
Beat  on  window  ledges. 

These  shall  wake  the  yawning  maid; 

She  the  door  shall  open — 
Finding  dew  on  garden  glade 

And  the  morning  broken. 

There  my  garden  grows  again 

Green  and  rosy  painted, 
As  at  eve  behind  the  pane 

From  my  eyes  it  fainted. 

Just  as  it  was  shut  away, 

Toy-like,  in  the  even, 
Here  I  see  it  glow  with  day 

Under  glowing  heaven. 

Every  path  and  every  plot, 

Every  bush  of  roses, 
Every  blue  forget-me-not 

Where  the  dew  reposes, 

«  Up!»  they  cry,  « the  day  is  come 

On  the  smiling  valleys: 
We  have  beat  the  morning  drum; 

Playmate,  join  your  allies!* 

70 


n 

NEST   EGGS 

BIRDS  all  the  sunny  day 
Flutter  and  quarrel 
Here  in  the  arbour-like 
Tent  of  the  laurel. 

Here  in  the  fork 

The  brown  nest  is  seated; 
Four  little  blue  eggs 

The  mother  keeps  heated. 

While  we  stand  watching  her, 

Staring  like  gabies, 
Safe  in  each  egg  are  the 

Bird's  little  babies. 

Soon  the  frail  eggs  they  shall 
Chip,  and  upspringing, 

Make  all  the  April  woods 
Merry  with  singing. 

Younger  than  we  are, 
0  children,  and  frailer, 

Soon  in  blue  air  they'll  be, 
Singer  and  sailor. 

71 


A   CHILD'S   GARDEN  OF   VERSES 

We,  so  much  older, 
Taller  and  stronger, 

We  shall  look  down  on  the 
Birdies  no  longer. 

They  shall  go  flying 
With  musical  speeches 

High  overhead  in  the 
Tops  of  the  beeches. 

In  spite  of  our  wisdom 
And  sensible  talking, 

We  on  our  feet  must  go 
Plodding  and  walking. 


72 


m 

THE   FLOWERS 

ALL  the  names  I  know  from  nurse: 
Gardener's  garters,  Shepherd's  purse, 
Bachelor's  buttons,  Lady's  smock, 
And  the  Lady  Hollyhock. 

Fairy  places,  fairy  things, 

Fairy  woods  where  the  wild  bee  wings, 

Tiny  trees  for  tiny  dames— 

These  must  all  be  fairy  names! 

Tiny  woods  below  whose  boughs 
Shady  fairies  weave  a  house; 
Tiny  tree-tops,  rose  or  thyme, 
Where  the  braver  fairies  climb! 

Fair  are  grown-up  people's  trees, 
But  the  fairest  woods  are  these; 
Where  if  I  were  not  so  tall, 
I  should  live  for  good  and  all. 


73 


rv 

SUMMER   SUN 

GREAT  is  the  sun,  and  wide  he  goes 
Through  empty  heaven  without  repose; 
And  in  the  blue  and  glowing  days 
More  thick  than  rain  he  showers  his  rays. 

Though  closer  still  the  blinds  we  pull 
To  keep  the  shady  parlour  cool, 
Yet  he  will  find  a  chink  or  two 
To  slip  his  golden  fingers  through. 

The  dusty  attic  spider-clad 
He,  through  the  keyhole,  maketh  glad; 
And  through  the  broken  edge  of  tiles, 
Into  the  laddered  hayloft  smiles. 

Meantime  his  golden  face  around 
He  bares  to  all  the  garden  ground, 
And  sheds  a  warm  and  glittering  look 
Among  the  ivy's  inmost  nook. 

Above  the  hills,  along  the  blue, 
Round  the  bright  air  with  footing  true, 
To  please  the  child,  to  paint  the  rose, 
The  gardener  of  the  World,  he  goes. 


74 


THE   DUMB   SOLDIER 

WHEN  the  grass  was  closely  mown, 
Walking  on  the  lawn  alone, 
In  the  turf  a  hole  I  found 
And  hid  a  soldier  underground. 

Spring  and  daisies  came  apace; 
Grasses  hide  my  hiding  place; 
Grasses  run  like  a  green  sea 
O'er  the  lawn  up  to  my  knee. 

Under  grass  alone  he  lies, 
Looking  up  with  leaden  eyes, 
Scarlet  coat  and  pointed  gun, 
To  the  stars  and  to  the  sun. 

When  the  grass  is  ripe  like  grain, 
When  the  scythe  is  stoned  again, 
When  the  lawn  is  shaven  clear, 
Then  my  hole  shall  reappear. 

I  shall  find  him,  never  fear, 
I  shall  find  my  grenadier; 
But  for  all  that's  gone  and  come, 
I  shall  find  my  soldier  dumb. 

75 


A  CHILD'S  GARDEN   OF   VERSES 

He  has  lived,  a  little  thing, 
In  the  grassy  woods  of  spring; 
Done,  if  he  could  tell  me  true, 
Just  as  I  should  like  to  do. 

He  has  seen  the  starry  hours 
And  the  springing  of  the  flowers; 
And  the  fairy  things  that  pass 
In  the  forests  of  the  grass. 

In  the  silence  he  has  heard 
Talking  bee  and  ladybird, 
And  the  butterfly  has  flown 
O'er  him  as  he  lay  alone. 

Not  a  word  will  he  disclose, 
Not  a  word  of  all  he  knows. 
I  must  lay  him  on  the  shelf, 
And  make  up  the  tale  myself. 


76 


VI 

AUTUMN   FIRES 

IN  the  other  gardens 
And  all  up  the  vale, 
From  the  autumn  bonfires 
See  the  smoke  trail! 

Pleasant  summer  over 

And  all  the  summer  flowers, 
The  red  fire  blazes, 

The  grey  smoke  towers. 

Sing  a  song  of  seasons! 

Something  bright  in  all! 
Flowers  in  the  summer, 

Fires  in  the  fall! 


77 


VII 


I 


THE  GARDENER 

THE  gardener  does  not  love  to  talk, 
He  makes  me  keep  the  gravel  walk; 
And  when  he  puts  his  tools  away, 
He  locks  the  door  and  takes  the  key. 

Away  behind  the  currant  row 
Where  no  one  else  but  cook  may  go, 
Far  in  the  plots,  I  see  him  dig, 
Old  and  serious,  brown  and  big. 

He  digs  the  flowers,  green,  red  and  blue, 
Nor  wishes  to  be  spoken  to. 
He  digs  the  flowers  and  cuts  the  hay, 
And  never  seems  to  want  to  play. 

Silly  gardener!  summer  goes, 
And  winter  comes  with  pinching  toes, 
When  in  the  garden  bare  and  brown 
You  must  lay  your  barrow  down. 

Well  now,  and  while  the  summer  stays, 
To  profit  by  these  garden  days, 
0  how  much  wiser  you  would  be 
To  play  at  Indian  wars  with  me! 


78 


VIII 

HISTORICAL   ASSOCIATIONS 

DEAR  Uncle  Jim,  this  garden  ground 
That  now  you  smoke  your  pipe  around, 
Has  seen  immortal  actions  done 
And  valiant  battles  lost  and  won. 

Here  we  had  best  on  tip-toe  tread, 
While  I  for  safety  march  ahead, 
For  this  is  that  enchanted  ground 
Where  all  who  loiter  slumber  sound. 

Here  is  the  sea,  here  is  the  sand, 
Here  is  simple  Shepherd's  Land, 
Here  are  the  fairy  hollyhocks, 
And  there  are  Ali  Baba's  rocks. 

But  yonder,  see !  apart  and  high, 
Frozen  Siberia  lies;  where  I, 
With  Robert  Bruce  and  William  Tell, 
Was  bound  by  an  enchanter's  spell. 


79 


ENVOYS 


TO   WILLIE   AND   HENRIETTA 


r 


rF  two  may  read  aright 
These  rhymes  of  old  delight 
And  house  and  garden  play, 
You  two,  my  cousins,  and  you  only,  may. 


You  in  a  garden  green 
With  me  were  king  and  queen, 
Were  hunter,  soldier,  tar, 
And  all  the  thousand  things  that  children  are. 

Now  in  the  elders'  seat 
We  rest  with  quiet  feet, 
And  from  the  window-bay 
We  watch  the  children,  our  successors,  play. 

« Time  was,»  the  golden  head 
Irrevocably  said; 
But  time  which  none  can  bind, 
While  flowing  fast  away,  leaves  love  behind. 


n 


TO   MY   MOTHER 


YOU  too,  my  mother,  read  my  rhymes 
For  love  of  unforgotten  times, 
And  you  may  chance  to  hear  once  more 
The  little  feet  along  the  floor. 


84 


m 

TO   AUNTIE 

/~*HIEF  of  our  aunts— not  only  I, 

>-'  But  all  your  dozen  of  nurselings  cry- 

What  did  the  other  children  do  ? 

And  what  were  childhood,  wanting  you  ? 


85 


IV 

TO  MINNIE 

THE  red  room  with  the  giant  bed 
Where  none  but  elders  laid  their  head; 
The  little  room  where  you  and  I 
Did  for  a  while  together  lie 
And,  s;mple  suitor,  I  your  hand 
In  decent  marriage  did  demand; 
The  great  day  nursery,  best  of  all, 
With  pictures  pasted  on  the  wall 
And  leaves  upon  the  blind— 
A  pleasant  room  wherein  to  wake 
And  hear  the  leafy  garden  shake 
And  rustle  in  the  wind— 
And  pleasant  there  to  lie  in  bed 
And  see  the  pictures  overhead— 
The  wars  about  Sebastopol, 
The  grinning  guns  along  the  wall, 
The  daring  escalade, 
The  plunging  ships,  the  bleating  sheep, 
The  happy  children  ankle-deep 
And  laughing  as  they  wade: 
All  these  are  vanished  clean  away, 
And  the  old  manse  is  changed  to-day; 
It  wears  an  altered  face 
And  shields  a  stranger  race. 

86 


TO   MINNIE 

The  river,  on  from  mill  to  mill, 
Flows  past  our  childhood's  garden  still; 
But  ah!  we  children  never  more 
Shall  watch  it  from  the  water-door! 
Below  the  yew— it  still  is  there — 
Our  phantom  voices  haunt  the  air 
As  we  were  still  at  play, 
And  I  can  hear  them  call  and  say: 
« How  far  is  it  to  Babylon  ? » 

Ah,  far  enough,  my  dear, 

Far,  far  enough  from  here— 

Yet  you  have  farther  gone ! 

«  Can  I  get  there  by  candle-light  ?  » 

So  goes  the  old  refrain. 

I  do  not  know — perchance  you  might— 

But  only,  children,  hear  it  right, 

Ah,  never  to  return  again! 

The  eternal  dawn,  beyond  a  doubt, 

Shall  break  on  hill  and  plain, 

And  put  all  stars  and  candles  out 

Ere  we  be  young  again. 

To  you  in  distant  India,  these 
I  send  across  the  seas, 
Nor  count  it  far  across. 
For  which  of  us  forgets 
The  Indian  cabinets, 

The  bones  of  antelope,  the  wings  of  albatross, 
87 


A   CHILD'S   GARDEN   OF   VERSES 

The  pied  and  painted  birds  and  beans, 

The  junks  and  bangles,  beads  and  screens, 

The  gods  and  sacred  bells, 

And  the  loud-humming,  twisted  shells! 

The  level  of  the  parlour  floor 

Was  honest,  homely,  Scottish  shore; 

But  when  we  climbed  upon  a  chair, 

Behold  the  gorgeous  East  was  there! 

Be  this  a  fable;  and  behold 

Me  in  the  parlour  as  of  old, 

And  Minnie  just  above  me  set 

In  the  quaint  Indian  cabinet! 

Smiling  and  kind,  you  grace  a  shelf 

Too  high  for  me  to  reach  myself. 

Reach  down  a  hand,  my  dear,  and  take 

These  rhymes  for  old  acquaintance'  sake! 


88 


TO   MY   NAME-CHILD 


SOME  day  soon  this  rhyming  volume,  if  you  learn  with 
proper  speed, 
Little  Louis  Sanchez,  will  be  given  you  to  read. 
Then  shall  you  discover,  that  your  name  was  printed  down 
By  the  English  printers,  long  before,  in  London  town. 

In  the  great  and  busy  city  where  the  East  and  West  are  met, 

All  the  little  letters  did  the  English  printer  set; 

While  you  thought  of  nothing,  and  were  still  too  young  to 

Play, 
Foreign  people  thought  of  you  in  places  far  away. 

Ay,  and  while  you  slept,  a  baby,  over  all  the  English  lands 
Other  little  children  took  the  volume  in  their  hands; 
Other  children  questioned,  in  their  homes  across  the  seas: 
Who  was  little  Louis,  won't  you  tell  us,  mother,  please  ? 

89 


A   CHILD'S   GARDEN   OF   VERSES 

Now  that  you  have  spelt  your  lesson,  lay  it  down  and  go  and 

play, 
Seeking  shells  and  seaweed  on  the  sands  of  Monterey, 
Watching  all  the  mighty  whalebones,  lying  buried  by  the 

breeze, 
Tiny  sandy-pipers,  and  the  huge  Pacific  seas. 

And  remember  in  your  playing,  as  the  sea-fog  rolls  to  you, 
Long  ere  you  could  read  it,  how  I  told  you  what  to  do; 
And  that  while  you  thought  of  no  one,  nearly  half  the  world 

away 
Some  one  thought  of  Louis  on  the  beach  of  Monterey! 


90 


VI 

TO   ANY   READER 

AS  from  the  house  your  mother  sees 
J\  You  playing  round  the  garden  trees, 
So  you  may  see,  if  you  will  look 
Through  the  windows  of  this  book, 
Another  child,  far,  far  away, 
And  in  another  garden,  play. 
But  do  not  think  you  can  at  all, 
By  knocking  on  the  window,  call 
That  child  to  hear  you.     He  intent 
Is  all  on  his  play-business  bent. 
He  does  not  hear;  he  will  not  look, 
Nor  yet  be  lured  out  of  this  book. 
For,  long  ago,  the  truth  to  say, 
He  has  grown  up  and  gone  away, 
And  it  is  but  a  child  of  air 
That  lingers  in  the  garden  there. 


91 


UNDERWOODS 


Of  all  my  verse,  like  not  a  single  line ; 
But  like  my  title,  for  it  is  not  mine. 
That  title  from  a  better  man  I  stole: 
Ah,  how  much  better,  had  I  stol'n  the  whole ! 


DEDICATION 

There  are  men  and  classes  of  men  that  stand  above  the  common 
herd  :  the  soldier,  the  sailor,  and  the  shepherd  not  unfrequently  ; 
the  artist  rarely  ;  rarelier  still,  the  clergyman  ;  the  physician  al- 
most as  a  rule.  He  is  the  flower  (such  as  it  is)  of  our  civilisation  ; 
and  when  that  stage  of  man  is  done  with,  and  only  remembered  to 
be  marvelled  at  in  history,  he  will  be  thought  to  have  shared  as  lit- 
tle as  any  in  the  defects  of  the  period,  and  most  notably  exhibited 
the  virtues  of  the  race.  Generosity  he  has,  such  as  is  possible  to 
those  who  practise  an  art,  never  to  those  who  drive  a  trade  ;  dis- 
cretion, tested  by  a  hundred  secrets ;  tact,  tried  in  a  thousand 
embarrassments  ;  and  what  are  more  important,  Heraclean  cheer- 
fulness and  courage.  So  it  is  that  he  brings  air  and  cheer  into  the 
sick-room,  and  often  enough,  though  not  so  often  as  he  wishes, 
brings  healing. 

Gratitude  is  but  a  lame  sentiment ;  thanks,  when  they  are  ex- 
pressed, are  often  more  embarrassing  than  welcome ;  and  yet  I 
must  set  forth  mine  to  a  few  out  of  many  doctors  who  have  brought 
me  comfort  and  help  :  to  Dr.  Willey  of  San  Francisco,  whose  kind- 
ness to  a  stranger  it  must  be  as  grateful  to  him,  as  it  is  touching 
to  me,  to  remember  ;  to  Dr.  Karl  Ruedi  of  Davos,  the  good  genius 
of  the  English  in  his  frosty  mountains ;  to  Dr.  Herbert  of  Paris, 
whom  I  knew  only  for  a  week,  and  to  Dr.  Caissot  of  Montpellier, 
whom  I  knew  only  for  ten  days,  and  who  have  yet  written  their 
names  deeply  in  my  memory;  to  Dr.  Brandt  of  Royat ;  to  Dr. 

95 


DEDICATION 

Wakefield  of  Nice  ;  to  Dr.  Chepncll,  whose  visits  make  it  a  pleasure 
to  be  ill ;  to  Dr.  Horace  Dobell,  so  wise  in  counsel ;  to  Sir  Andrew 
Clark,  so  unwearied  in  kindness  ;  and  to  that  wise  youth,  my  uncle, 
Dr.  Balfour. 

I  forget  as  many  as  I  remember  ;  and  I  ask  both  to  pardon  me, 
these  for  silence,  those  for  inadequate  speech.  But  one  name  I 
have  kept  on  purpose  to  the  last,  because  it  is  a  household  word 
with  me,  and  because  if  I  had  not  received  favours  from  so  many 
hands  and  in  so  many  quarters  of  the  world,  it  should  have  stood 
upon  this  page  alone  :  that  of  my  friend  Thomas  Bodley  Scott  of 
Bournemouth.  Will  he  accept  this,  although  shared  among  so 
many,  for  a  dedication  to  himself?  and  when  next  my  ill-fortune 
(which  has  thus  its  pleasant  side)  brings  him  hurrying  to  me  when 
he  would  fain  sit  down  to  meat  or  lie  down  to  rest,  will  he  care  to 
remember  that  he  takes  this  trouble  for  one  who  is  not  fool  enough 
to  be  ungrateful  ? 

R.  L.  S. 

JSkerryvore, 

Bournemouth. 


96 


BOOK  I 

IN  ENGLISH 


ENVOY 

GO,  little  book,  and  wish  to  all 
Flowers  in  the  garden,  meat  in  the  hall, 
A  bin  of  wine,  a  spice  of  wit, 
A  house  with  lawns  enclosing  it, 
A  living  river  by  the  door, 
A  nightingale  in  the  sycamore! 


99 


n 

A   SONG    OF   THE   ROAD 

THE  gauger  walked  with  willing  foot, 
And  aye  the  gauger  played  the  flute; 
And  what  should  Master  Gauger  play 
But  Over  the  hills  and  far  away  ? 

Whene'er  I  buckle  on  my  pack 
And  foot  it  gaily  in  the  track, 

0  pleasant  gauger,  long  since  dead, 

1  hear  you  fluting  on  ahead. 

You  go  with  me  the  self -same  way— 
The  self-same  air  for  me  you  play; 
For  I  do  think  and  so  do  you 
It  is  the  tune  to  travel  to. 

For  who  would  gravely  set  his  face 
To  go  to  this  or  t'other  place  ? 
There's  nothing  undfer  heav'n  so  blue 
That's  fairly  worth  the  travelling  to. 

On  every  hand  the  roads  begin, 
And  people  walk  with  zeal  therein; 
But  wheresoe'er  the  highways  tend, 
Be  sure  there's  nothing  at  the  end. 

100 


A  SONG  OF  THE  ROAD 

Then  follow  you,  wherever  hie 
The  travelling  mountains  of  the  sky. 
Or  let  the  streams  in  civil  mode 
Direct  your  choice  upon  a  road; 

For  one  and  all,  or  high  or  low, 
Will  lead  you  where  you  wish  to  go; 
And  one  and  all  go  night  and  day 
Over  the  hills  and  far  away ! 

FOREST   OF   MONTAROIS,  1878. 


1U1 


Ill 

THE   CANOE   SPEAKS 

ON  the  great  streams  the  ships  may  go 
About  men's  business  to  and  fro. 
But  I,  the  egg-shell  pinnace,  sleep 
On  crystal  waters  ankle-deep: 
I,  whose  diminutive  design, 
Of  sweeter  cedar,  pithier  pine, 
Is  fashioned  on  so  frail  a  mould, 
A  hand  may  launch,  a  hand  withhold: 
I,  rather,  with  the  leaping  trout 
Wind,  among  lilies,  in  and  out; 
I,  the  unnamed,  inviolate, 
Green,  rustic  rivers,  navigate; 
My  dipping  paddle  scarcely  shakes 
The  berry  in  the  bramble-brakes; 
Still  forth  on  my  green  way  I  wend 
Beside  the  cottage  garden-end; 
And  by  the  nested  angler  fare, 
And  take  the  lovers  unaware. 
By  willow  wood  and  water  wheel 
Speedily  fleets  my  touching  keel; 
By  all  retired  and  shady  spots 
Where  prosper  dim  forget-me-nots; 
By  meadows  where  at  afternoon 
The  growing  maidens  troop  in  June 
102 


THE  CANOE  SPEAKS 

To  loose  their  girdles  on  the  grass. 
Ah!  speedier  than  before  the  glass 
The  backward  toilet  goes;  and  swift 
As  swallows  quiver,  robe  and  shift 
And  the  rough  country  stockings  lie 
Around  each  young  divinity. 
When,  following  the  recondite  brook, 
Sudden  upon  this  scene  I  look, 
And  light  with  unfamiliar  face 
On  chaste  Diana's  bathing-place, 
Loud  ring  the  hills  about  and  all 
The  shallows  are  abandoned.  .  .  . 


103 


IV 

IT  is  the  season  now  to  go 
About  the  country  high  and  low, 
Among  the  lilacs  hand  in  hand, 
And  two  by  two  in  fairy  land. 

The  brooding  boy,  the  sighing  maid, 
Wholly  fain  and  half  afraid, 
Now  meet  along  the  hazel'd  brook 
To  pass  and  linger,  pause  and  look. 

A  year  ago,  and  blithely  paired, 
Their  rough-and-tumble  play  they  shared; 
They  kissed  and  quarrelled,  laughed  and  cried, 
A  year  ago  at  Eastertide. 

With  bursting  heart,  with  fiery  face, 

She  strove  against  him  in  the  race; 

He  unabashed  her  garter  saw, 

That  now  would  touch  her  skirts  with  awe. 

Now  by  the  stile  ablaze  she  stops, 
And  his  demurer  eyes  he  drops; 
Now  they  exchange  averted  sighs 
Or  stand  and  marry  silent  eyes. 

104 


IT  IS  THE  SEASON  NOW 

And  he  to  her  a  hero  is 
And  sweeter  she  than  primroses; 
Their  common  silence  dearer  far 
Than  nightingale  or  mavis  are. 

Now  when  they  sever  wedded  hands, 
Joy  trembles  in  their  bosom-strands, 
And  lovely  laughter  leaps  and  falls 
Upon  their  lips  in  madrigals. 


105 


THE   HOUSE   BEAUTIFUL 

/I  NAKED  house,  a  naked  moor, 
<^1    A  shivering  pool  before  the  door, 
A  garden  bare  of  flowers  and  fruit, 
And  poplars  at  the  garden  foot : 
Such  is  the  place  that  I  live  in, 
Bleak  without  and  bare  within. 

Yet  shall  your  ragged  moor  receive 
The  incomparable  pomp  of  eve, 
And  the  cold  glories  of  the  dawn 
Behind  your  shivering  trees  be  drawn; 
And  when  the  wind  from  place  to  place 
Doth  the  unmoored  cloud-galleons  chase, 
Your  garden  gloom  and  gleam  again, 
With  leaping  sun,  with  glancing  rain. 
Here  shall  the  wizard  moon  ascend 
The  heavens,  in  the  crimson  end 
Of  day's  declining  splendour;  here 
The  army  of  the  stars  appear. 
The  neighbour  hollows,  dry  or  wet, 
Spring  shall  with  tender  flowers  beset; 
And  oft  the  morning  muser  see 
Larks  rising  from  the  broomy  lea, 
loc 


THE  HOUSE  BEAUTIFUL 

And  every  fairy  wheel  and  thread 
Of  cobweb  dew-bediamonded. 
When  daisies  go,  shall  winter-time 
Silver  the  simple  grass  with  rime; 
Autumnal  frosts  enchant  the  pool 
And  make  the  cart-ruts  beautiful ; 
And  when  snow-bright  the  moor  expands, 
How  shall  your  children  clap  their  hands! 
To  make  this  earth,  our  hermitage, 
A  cheerful  and  a  changeful  page, 
God's  bright  and  intricate  device 
Of  days  and  seasons  doth  suffice. 


107 


VI 

A   VISIT   FROM   THE   SEA 

FAR  from  the  loud  sea  beaches 
Where  he  goes  fishing  and  crying, 
Here  in  the  inland  garden 
Why  is  the  sea-gull  flying? 

Here  are  no  fish  to  dive  for; 

Here  is  the  corn  and  lea; 
Here  are  the  green  trees  rustling. 

Hie  away  home  to  sea! 

Fresh  is  the  river  water 

And  quiet  among  the  rushes; 
This  is  no  home  for  the  sea-gull, 

But  for  the  rooks  and  thrushes. 

Pity  the  bird  that  has  wandered! 

Pity  the  sailor  ashore! 
Hurry  him  home  to  the  ocean, 

Let  him  come  here  no  more! 

High  on  the  sea-cliff  ledges 

The  white  gulls  are  trooping  and  crying; 
Here  among  rooks  and  roses, 

Why  is  the  sea-gull  flying? 

108 


vn 

TO   A   GARDENER 

FRIEND,  in  my  mountain-side  demesne, 
My  plain-beholding,  rosy,  green 
And  linnet-haunted  garden  ground, 
Let  still  the  esculents  abound. 
Let  first  the  onion  flourish  there, 
Rose  among  roots,  the  maiden-fair, 
Wine-scented  and  poetic  soul 
Of  the  capacious  salad  bowl. 
Let  thyme  the  mountaineer  (to  dress 
The  tinier  birds)  and  wading  cress, 
The  lover  of  the  shallow  brook, 
From  all  my  plots  and  borders  look. 
Nor  crisp  and  ruddy  radish,  nor 
Pease-cods  for  the  child's  pinafore 
Be  lacking;  nor  of  salad  clan 
The  last  and  least  that  ever  ran 
About  great  nature's  garden  beds. 
Nor  thence  be  missed  the  speary  heads 
Of  artichoke;  nor  thence  the  bean 
That  gathered  innocent  and  green 
Outsavours  the  belauded  pea. 

These  tend,  I  prithee;  and  for  me, 
Thy  most  long-suffering  master,  bring 
In  April,  when  the  linnets  sing 
109 


UNDERWOODS 

And  the  days  lengthen  more  and  more, 
At  sundown  to  the  garden  door. 
And  I,  being  provided  thus, 
Shall,  with  superb  asparagus, 
A  book,  a  taper,  and  a  cup 
Of  country  wine,  divinely  sup. 


La  Solitude,  Hyekes. 


110 


vm 

TO   MINNIE 

(With  a  hand-glass) 

A  PICTURE-FRAME  for  you  to  fill, 
A  paltry  setting  for  your  face, 
A  thing  that  has  no  worth  until 

You  lend  it  something  of  your  grace, 

I  send  (unhappy  I  that  sing 
Laid  by  awhile  upon  the  shelf) 

Because  I  would  not  send  a  thing 
Less  charming  than  you  are  yourself. 

And  happier  than  I,  alas! 

(Dumb  thing,  I  envy  its  delight) 
'Twill  wish  you  well,  the  looking-glass, 

And  look  you  in  the  face  to-night. 


ill 


IX 


TO   K.   DE   M. 


A  LOVER  of  the  moorland  bare, 
And  honest  country  winds,  you  were; 
The  silver-skimming  rain  you  took; 
And  loved  the  floodings  of  the  brook, 
Dew,  frost  and  mountains,  fire  and  seas, 
Tumultuary  silences, 
Winds  that  in  darkness  fifed  a  tune, 
And  the  high-riding  virgin  moon. 

And  as  the  berry,  pale  and  sharp, 
Springs  on  some  ditch's  counterscarp 
In  our  ungenial,  native  north— 
You  put  your  frosted  wildings  forth, 
And  on  the  heath,  afar  from  man, 
A  strong  and  bitter  virgin  ran. 

The  berry  ripened  keeps  the  rude 
And  racy  flavour  of  the  wood. 
And  you  that  loved  the  empty  plain 
All  redolent  of  wind  and  rain, 
Around  you  still  the  curlew  sings— 
The  freshness  of  the  weather  clings — 
The  maiden  jewels  of  the  rain 
Sit  in  your  dabbled  locks  again. 

112 


X 

TO   N.    V.   DE   G.   S. 

THE  unfathomable  sea,  and  time,  and  tears, 
The  deeds  of  heroes  and  the  crimes  of  kings 
Dispart  us;  and  the  river  of  events 
Has,  for  an  age  of  years,  to  east  and  west 
More  widely  borne  our  cradles.    Thou  to  me 
Art  foreign,  as  when  seamen  at  the  dawn 
Descry  a  land  far  off  and  know  not  which. 
So  I  approach  uncertain;  so  I  cruise 
Round  thy  mysterious  islet,  and  behold 
Surf  and  great  mountains  and  loud  river-bars, 
And  from  the  shore  hear  inland  voices  call. 
Strange  is  the  seaman's  heart;  he  hopes,  he  fears; 
Draws  closer  and  sweeps  wider  from  that  coast; 
Last,  his  rent  sail  refits,  and  to  the  deep 
His  shattered  prow  uncomforted  puts  back. 
Yet  as  he  goes  he  ponders  at  the  helm 
Of  that  bright  island;  where  he  feared  to  touch, 
His  spirit  readventures;  and  for  years, 
Where  by  his  wife  he  slumbers  safe  at  home, 
Thoughts  of  that  land  revisit  him;  he  sees 
The  eternal  mountains  beckon,  and  awakes 
Yearning  for  that  far  home  that  might  have  been. 

113 


XI 

TO   WILL.    H.    LOW 

YOUTH  now  flees  on  feathered  foot, 
Faint  and  fainter  sounds  the  flute, 
Rarer  songs  of  gods;  and  still 
Somewhere  on  the  sunny  hill, 
Or  along  the  winding  stream, 
Through  the  willows,  flits  a  dream; 
Flits,  but  shows  a  smiling  face, 
Flees,  but  with  so  quaint  a  grace, 
Nor  can  choose  to  stay  at  home, 
All  must  follow,  all  must  roam. 

This  is  unborn  beauty:  she 
Now  in  air  floats  high  and  free, 
Takes  the  sun  and  breaks  the  blue;— 
Late  with  stooping  pinion  flew 
Raking  hedgerow  trees,  and  wet 
Her  wing  in  silver  streams,  and  set 
Shining  foot  on  temple  roof: 
Now  again  she  flies  aloof, 
Coasting  mountain  clouds  and  kist 
By  the  evening's  amethyst. 

In  wet  wood  and  miry  lane, 
Still  we  pant  and  pound  in  vain; 

114 


TO  WILL.  H.  LOW 

Still  with  leaden  foot  we  chase 
Waning  pinion,  fainting  face; 
Still  with  grey  hair  we  stumble  on, 
Till,  behold,  the  vision  gone! 
Where  hath  fleeting  beauty  led  ? 
To  the  doorway  of  the  dead. 
Life  is  over,  life  was  gay: 
We  have  come  the  primrose  way. 


115 


XII 


TO   MRS.    WILL.    H.    LOW 


EVEN  in  the  bluest  noonday  of  July, 
There  could  not  run  the  smallest  breath  of  wind 
But  all  the  quarter  sounded  like  a  wood; 
And  in  the  chequered  silence  and  above 
The  hum  of  city  cabs  that  sought  the  Bois, 
Suburban  ashes  shivered  into  song. 
A  patter  and  a  chatter  and  a  chirp 
And  a  long  dying  hiss — it  was  as  though 
Starched  old  brocaded  dames  through  all  the  house 
Had  trailed  a  strident  skirt,  or  the  whole  sky 
Even  in  a  wink  had  over-brimmed  in  rain. 
Hark,  in  these  shady  parlours,  how  it  talks 
Of  the  near  autumn,  how  the  smitten  ash 
Trembles  and  augurs  floods!     0  not  too  long 
In  these  inconstant  latitudes  delay, 
0  not  too  late  from  the  unbeloved  north 
Trim  your  escape!    For  soon  shall  this  low  roof 
Resound  indeed  with  rain,  soon  shall  your  eyes 
Search  the  foul  garden,  search  the  darkened  rooms, 
Nor  find  one  jewel  but  the  blazing  log. 

12  Rue  Vernier,  Paris. 


U6 


xm 

TO   H.  F.   BROWN 

(Written  during  a  dangerous  sickness) 

I  SIT  and  wait  a  pair  of  oars 
On  cis-Elysian  river-shores. 
Where  the  immortal  dead  have  sate, 
'Tis  mine  to  sit  and  meditate; 
To  reascend  life's  rivulet, 
Without  remorse,  without  regret; 
And  sing  my  Alma  Genetrix 
Among  the  willows  of  the  Styx. 

And  lo,  as  my  serener  soul 
Did  these  unhappy  shores  patrol, 
And  wait  with  an  attentive  ear 
The  coming  of  the  gondolier, 
Your  fire-surviving  roll  I  took, 
Your  spirited  and  happy  book;1 
Whereon,  despite  my  frowning  fate, 
It  did  my  soul  so  recreate 
That  all  my  fancies  fled  away 
On  a  Venetian  holiday. 

'  Life  on  the  Lagoons,  by  H.  F.  Brown,  originally  burned  in  the  fire 
at  Messrs.  Kegan  Paul,  Trench  &  Co.'s. 

117 


UNDERWOODS 

Now,  thanks  to  your  triumphant  care, 

Your  pages  clear  as  April  air, 

The  sails,  the  bells,  the  birds,  I  know, 

And  the  far-off  Friulan  snow; 

The  land  and  sea,  the  sun  and  shade, 

And  the  blue  even  lamp-inlaid. 

For  this,  for  these,  for  all,  0  friend, 

For  your  whole  book  from  end  to  end- 

For  Paron  Piero's  muttonham— 

I  your  defaulting  debtor  am. 

Perchance,  reviving,  yet  may  I 
To  your  sea-paven  city  hie, 
And  in  afelze,  some  day  yet 
Light  at  your  pipe  my  cigarette. 


118 


XIV 

TO   ANDREW   LANG 

DEAR  Andrew,  with  the  brindled  hair, 
Who  glory  to  have  thrown  in  air, 
High  over  arm,  the  trembling  reed, 
By  Ale  and  Kail,  by  Till  and  Tweed: 
An  equal  craft  of  hand  you  show 
The  pen  to  guide,  the  fly  to  throw: 
I  count  you  happy  starred;  for  God, 
When  He  with  inkpot  and  with  rod 
Endowed  you,  bade  your  fortune  lead 
For  ever  by  the  crooks  of  Tweed, 
For  ever  by  the  woods  of  song, 
And  lands  that  to  the  Muse  belong; 
Or  if  in  peopled  streets,  or  in 
The  abhorred  pedantic  sanhedrim, 
It  should  be  yours  to  wander,  still 
Airs  of  the  morn,  airs  of  the  hill, 
The  plovery  Forest  and  the  seas 
That  break  about  the  Hebrides, 
Should  follow  over  field  and  plain 
And  find  you  at  the  window-pane; 
And  you  again  see  hill  and  peel, 
And  the  bright  springs  gush  at  your  heel. 
So  went  the  fiat  forth,  and  so 
Garrulous  like  a  brook  you  go, 

119 


UNDERWOODS 

With  sound  of  happy  mirth  and  sheen 
Of  daylight— whether  by  the  green 
You  fare  that  moment,  or  the  grey; 
Whether  you  dwell  in  March  or  May; 
Or  whether  treat  of  reels  and  rods 
Or  of  the  old  unhappy  gods: 
Still  like  a  brook  your  page  has  shone, 
And  your  ink  sings  of  Helicon. 


120 


XV 

ET  TU  IN  ARCADIA  VIXISTI 
(To  R.  A.  M.  S.) 

IN  ancient  tales,  0  friend,  thy  spirit  dwelt; 
There,  from  of  old,  thy  childhood  passed ;  and  there 
High  expectation,  high  delights  and  deeds, 
Thy  fluttering  heart  with  hope  and  terror  moved. 
And  thou  hast  heard  of  yore  the  Blatant  Beast, 
And  Roland's  horn,  and  that  war-scattering  shout 
Of  all-unarmed  Achilles,  asgis-crowned. 
And  perilous  lands  thou  sawest,  sounding  shores 
And  seas  and  forests  drear,  island  and  dale 
And  mountain  dark.     For  thou  with  Tristram  rod'st 
Or  Bedevere,  in  farthest  Lyonesse. 
Thou  hadst  a  booth  in  Samarcand,  whereat 
Side-looking  Magians  trafficked;  thence,  by  night, 
An  Afreet  snatched  thee,  and  with  wings  upbore 
Beyond  the  Aral  mount;  or,  hoping  gain, 
Thou,  with  a  jar  of  money,  didst  embark, 
For  Balsorah,  by  sea.     But  chiefly  thou 
In  that  clear  air  took'st  life;  in  Arcady 
The  haunted,  land  of  song;  and  by  the  wells 
Where  most  the  gods  frequent.     There  Chiron  old, 
In  the  Pelethronian  antre,  taught  thee  lore 

121 


UNDERWOODS 

The  plants,  he  taught,  and  by  the  shining  stars 
In  forests  dim  to  steer.     There  hast  thou  seen 
Immortal  Pan  dance  secret  in  a  glade, 
And,  dancing,  roll  his  eyes;  these,  where  they  fell, 
Shed  glee,  and  through  the  congregated  oaks 
A  flying  horror  winged;  while  all  the  earth 
To  the  god's  pregnant  footing  thrilled  within. 
Or  whiles,  beside  the  sobbing  stream,  he  breathed, 
In  his  clutched  pipe,  unformed  and  wizard  strains, 
Divine  yet  brutal;  which  the  forest  heard, 
And  thou,  with  awe;  and  far  upon  the  plain 
The  unthinking  ploughman  started  and  gave  ear. 

Now  things  there  are  that,  upon  him  who  sees, 
A  strong  vocation  lay;  and  strains  there  are 
That  whoso  hears  shall  hear  for  evermore. 
For  evermore  thou  hear'st  immortal  Pan 
And  those  melodious  godheads,  ever  young 
And  ever  quiring,  on  the  mountains  old. 

What  was  this  earth,  child  of  the  gods,  to  thee  ? 
Forth  from  thy  dreamland  thou,  a  dreamer,  cam'st, 
And  in  thine  ears  the  olden  music  rang, 
And  in  thy  mind  the  doings  of  the  dead, 
And  those  heroic  ages  long  forgot. 
To  a  so  fallen  earth,  alas!  too  late, 
Alas!  in  evil  days,  thy  steps  return, 
To  list  at  noon  for  nightingales,  to  grow 
A  dweller  on  the  beach  till  Argo  come 

122 


ET   TU   IN   ARCADIA    VIXISTI 

That  came  long  since,  a  lingerer  by  the  pool 
Where  that  desired  angel  bathes  no  more. 

As  when  the  Indian  to  Dakota  comes, 

Or  farthest  Idaho,  and  where  he  dwelt, 

He  with  his  clan,  a  humming  city  finds; 

Thereon  awhile,  amazed,  he  stares,  and  then 

To  right  and  leftward,  like  a  questing  dog, 

Seeks  first  the  ancestral  altars,  then  the  hearth 

Long  cold  with  rains,  and  where  old  terror  lodged, 

And  where  the  dead.     So  thee  undying  Hope, 

With  all  her  pack,  hunts  screaming  through  the  years: 

Here,  there,  thou  fleeest;  but  nor  here  nor  there 

The  pleasant  gods  abide,  the  glory  dwells. 

That,  that  was  not  Apollo,  not  the  god. 

This  was  not  Venus,  though  she  Venus  seemed 

A  moment.     And  though  fair  yon  river  move, 

She,  all  the  way,  from  disenchanted  fount 

To  seas  unhallowed  runs;  the  gods  forsook 

Long  since  her  trembling  rushes;  from  her  plains 

Disconsolate,  long  since  adventure  fled; 

And  now  although  the  inviting  river  flows, 

And  every  poplared  cape,  and  every  bend 

Or  willowy  islet,  win  upon  thy  soul 

And  to  thy  hopeful  shallop  whisper  speed; 

Yet  hope  not  thou  at  all;  hope  is  no  more; 

And  0,  long  since  the  golden  groves  are  dead, 

The  faery  cities  vanished  from  the  land! 

123 


XVI 

TO   W.  E.  HENLEY 

THE  year  runs  th'rough  her  phases;  rain  and  sun, 
Springtime  and  summer  pass;  winter  succeeds; 
But  one  pale  season  rules  the  house  of  death. 
Cold  falls  the  imprisoned  daylight;  fell  disease 
By  each  lean  pallet  squats,  and  pain  and  sleep 
Toss  gaping  on  the  pillows. 

But  0  thou! 
Uprise  and  take  thy  pipe.     Bid  music  flow, 
Strains  by  good  thoughts  attended,  like  the  spring 
The  swallows  follow  over  land  and  sea. 
Pain  sleeps  at  once;  at  once,  with  open  eyes, 
Dozing  despair  awakes.     The  shepherd  sees 
His  flock  come  bleating  home;  the  seaman  hears 
Once  more  the  cordage  rattle.     Airs  of  home! 
Youth,  love  and  roses  blossom;  the  gaunt  ward 
Dislimns  and  disappears,  and,  opening  out. 
Shows  brooks  and  forests,  and  the  blue  beyond 
Of  mountains. 

Small  the  pipe;  but  0!  do  thou, 
Peak-faced  and  suffering  piper,  blow  therein 
The  dirge  of  heroes  dead;  and  to  these  sick, 

124 


TO   W.  E.  HENLEY 

These  dying,  sound  the  triumph  over  death. 
Behold!  each  greatly  breathes;  each  tastes  a  joy 
Unknown  before,  in  dying;  for  each  knows 
A  hero  dies  with  him— though  unfulfilled, 
Yet  conquering  truly— and  not  dies  in  vain. 

So  is  pain  cheered,  death  comforted;  the  house 
Of  sorrow  smiles  to  listen.     Once  again— 
0  thou,  Orpheus  and  Heracles,  the  bard 
And  the  deliverer,  touch  the  stops  again! 


125 


xvn 

HENRY   JAMES 

WHO  comes  to-night  ?    We  ope  the  doors  in  vain. 
Who  comes  ?    My  bursting  walls,  can  you  contain 
The  presences  that  now  together  throng 
Your  narrow  entry,  as  with  flowers  and  song, 
As  with  the  air  of  life,  the  breath  of  talk  ? 
Lo,  how  these  fair  immaculate  women  walk 
Behind  their  jocund  maker;  and  we  see 
Slighted  De  Mauves,  and  that  far  different  she, 
Gressie,  the  trivial  sphynx;  and  to  our  feast 
Daisy  and  Barb  and  Chancellor  (she  not  least!) 
With  all  their  silken,  all  their  airy  kin, 
Do  like  unbidden  angels  enter  in. 
But  he,  attended  by  these  shining  names, 
Comes  (best  of  all)  himself— our  welcome  James. 


126 


XVIII 

THE   MIRROR   SPEAKS 

WHERE  the  bells  peal  far  at  sea 
Cunning  fingers  fashioned  me. 
There  on  palace  walls  I  hung 
While  that  Consuelo  sung; 
But  I  heard,  though  I  listened  well, 
Never  a  note,  never  a  trill, 
Never  a  beat  of  the  chiming  bell. 
There  I  hung  and  looked,  and  there 
In  my  grey  face,  faces  fair 
Shone  from  under  shining  hair. 
Well  I  saw  the  poising  head, 
But  the  lips  moved  and  nothing  said; 
And  when  lights  were  in  the  hall, 
Silent  moved  the  dancers  all. 

So  awhile  I  glowed,  and  then 
Fell  on  dusty  days  and  men; 
Long  I  slumbered  packed  in  straw, 
Long  I  none  but  dealers  saw; 
Till  before  my  silent  eye 
One  that  sees  came  passing  by. 

127 


UNDERWOODS 

Now  with  an  outlandish  grace, 
To  the  sparkling  fire  I  face 
In  the  blue  room  at  Skerryvore; 
Where  I  wait  until  the  door 
Open,  and  the  Prince  of  Men, 
Henry  James,  shall  come  again. 


128 


XIX 

KATHARINE 

WE  see  you  as  we  see  a  face 
That  trembles  in  a  forest  place 
Upon  the  mirror  of  a  pool 
For  ever  quiet,  clear  and  cool; 
And  in  the  wayward  glass,  appears 
To  hover  between  smiles  and  tears, 
Elfin  and  human,  airy  and  true, 
And  backed  by  the  reflected  blue. 


129 


XX 

TO   F.   J.   S. 

I  READ,  dear  friend,  in  your  dear  face 
Your  life's  tale  told  with  perfect  grace; 
The  river  of  your  life,  I  trace 
Up  the  sun-chequered,  devious  bed 
To  the  far-distant  fountain-head. 

Not  one  quick  beat  of  your  warm  heart, 
Nor  thought  that  came  to  you  apart, 
Pleasure  nor  pity,  love  nor  pain 
Nor  sorrow,  has  gone  by  in  vain; 

But  as  some  lone,  wood-wandering  child 
Brings  home  with  him  at  evening  mild 
The  thorns  and  flowers  of  all  the  wild, 
From  your  whole  life,  0  fair  and  true, 
Your  flowers  and  thorns  you  bring  with  you! 


130 


XXI 

REQUIEM 


UNDER  the  wide  and  starry  sky, 
Dig  the  grave  and  let  me  lie. 
Glad  did  I  live  and  gladly  die, 
And  I  laid  me  down  with  a  will. 

This  be  the  verse  you  grave  for  me: 
Here  he  lies  where  he  longed  to  be ; 
Home  is  the  sailor,  home  from  sea, 
And  the  hunter  home  from  the  hill. 


131 


XXII 

THE   CELESTIAL   SURGEON 

IF  I  have  faltered  more  or  less 
In  my  great  task  of  happiness; 
If  I  have  moved  among  my  race 
And  shown  no  glorious  morning  face; 
If  beams  from  happy  human  eyes 
Have  moved  me  not;  if  morning  skies, 
Books,  and  my  food,  and  summer  rain 
Knocked  on  my  sullen  heart  in  vain: — 
Lord,  Thy  most  pointed  pleasure  take 
And  stab  my  spirit  broad  awake; 
Or,  Lord,  if  too  obdurate  I, 
Choose  Thou,  before  that  spirit  die, 
A  piercing  pain,  a  killing  sin, 
And  to  my  dead  heart  run  them  in ! 


132 


xxm 

OUE  LADY   OF   THE  SNOWS 

OUT  of  the  sun  out  of  the  blast, 
Out  of  the  world,  alone  I  past 
Across  the  moor  and  through  the  wood 
To  where  the  monastery  stood. 
There  neither  lute  nor  breathing  fife, 
Nor  rumour  of  the  world  of  life, 
Nor  confidences  low  and  dear, 
Shall  strike  the  meditative  ear. 
Aloof,  unhelpful  and  unkind, 
The  prisoners  of  the  iron  mind, 
Where  nothing  speaks  except  the  hell 
The  unfraternal  brothers  dwell. 
Poor  passionate  men,  still  clothed  afresh 
With  agonising  folds  of  flesh; 
Whom  the  clear  eyes  solicit  still 
To  some  bold  output  of  the  will, 
While  fairy  Fancy  far  before 
And  musing  Memory-Hold-the-door 
Now  to  heroic  death  invite 
And  now  uncurtain  fresh  delight: 
0,  little  boots  it  thus  to  dwell 
On  the  remote  unneighboured  hill! 
133 


UNDERWOODS 

0  to  be  up  and  doing,  0 
Unfearing  and  unshamed  to  go 
In  all  the  uproar  and  the  press 
About  my  human  business! 
My  undissuaded  heart  I  hear 
Whisper  courage  in  my  ear. 
With  voiceless  calls,  the  ancient  earth 
Summons  me  to  a  daily  birth. 
Thou,  0  my  love,  ye,  0  my  friends— 
The  gist  of  life,  the  end  of  ends— 
To  laugh,  to  love,  to  live,  to  die, 
Ye  call  me  by  the  ear  and  eye! 

Forth  from  the  casemate,  on  the  plain 
Where  honour  has  the  world  to  gain, 
Pour  forth  and  bravely  do  your  part, 
0  knights  of  the  unshielded  heart! 
Forth  and  for  ever  forward!— out 
From  prudent  turret  and  redoubt, 
And  in  the  mellay  charge  amain, 
To  fall  but  yet  to  rise  again! 
Captive  ?  ah,  still,  to  honour  bright, 
A  captive  soldier  of  the  right! 
Or  free  and  fighting,  good  with  ill  ? 
Unconquering  but  unconquered  still! 

And  ye,  0  brethren,  what  if  God, 
When  from  HeaVn's  top  He  spies  abroad, 
And  sees  on  this  tormented  stage 
The  noble  war  of  mankind  rage: 

134 


OUR  LADY  OF  THE  SNOWS 

What  if  His  vivifying  eye, 
0  monks,  should  pass  your  corner  by  ? 
For  still  the  Lord  is  Lord  of  might; 
In  deeds,  in  deeds,  He  takes  delight; 
The  plough,  the  spear,  the  laden  barks, 
The  field,  the  founded  city,  marks; 
He  marks  the  smiler  of  the  streets, 
The  singer  upon  garden  seats; 
He  sees  the  climber  in  the  rocks; 
To  Him,  the  shepherd  folds  his  flocks. 
For  those  He  loves  that  underprop 
With  daily  virtues  Heaven's  top, 
And  bear  the  falling  sky  with  ease, 
Unfrowning  caryatides. 
Those  He  approves  that  ply  the  trade, 
That  rock  the  child,  that  wed  the  maid, 
That  with  weak  virtues,  weaker  hands, 
Sow  gladness  on  the  peopled  lands, 
And  still  with  laughter,  song  and  shout, 
Spin  the  great  wheel  of  earth  about. 

But  ye  ?— 0  ye  who  linger  still 
Here  in  your  fortress  on  the  hill, 
With  placid  face,  with  tranquil  breath, 
The  unsought  volunteers  of  death, 
Our  cheerful  General  on  high 
With  careless  looks  may  pass  you  by. 


135 


\ 


XXIV 

ATOT  yet,  my  soul,  these  friendly  fields  desert, 
_LM    Where  thou  with  grass,  and  rivers,  and  the  breeze 
And  the  bright  face  of  day,  thy  dalliance  hadst; 
Where  to  thine  ear  first  sang  the  enraptured  birds  ; 
Where  love  and  thou  that  lasting  bargain  made. 
The  ship  rides  trimmed,  and  from  the  eternal  shore 
Thou  hearest  airy  voices;  but  not  yet 
Depart,  my  soul,  not  yet  awhile  depart. 

Freedom  is  far,  rest  far.     Thou  art  with  life 
Too  closely  woven,  nerve  with  nerve  intwined; 
Service  still  craving  service,  love  for  love, 
Love  for  dear  love,  still  suppliant  with  tears. 
Alas,  not  yet  thy  human  task  is  done! 
A  bond  at  birth  is  forged;  a  debt  doth  lie 
Immortal  on  mortality.     It  grows— 
By  vast  rebound  it  grows,  unceasing  growth; 
Gift  upon  gift,  alms  upon  alms,  upreared, 
From  man,  from  God,  from  nature,  till  the  soul 
At  that  so  huge  indulgence  stands  amazed. 

Leave  not,  my  soul,  the  unfoughten  field,  nor  leave 
Thy  debts  dishonoured,  nor  thy  place  desert 
Without  due  service  rendered.     For  thy  life, 
Up,  spirit,  and  defend  that  fort  of  clay, 

136 


NOT  YET,  MY  SOUL 

Thy  body,  now  beleaguered;  whether  soon 
Or  late  she  fall;  whether  to-day  thy  friends 
Bewail  thee  dead,  or,  after  years,  a  man 
Grown  old  in  honour  and  the  friend  of  peace. 
Contend,  my  soul,  for  moments  and  for  hours; 
Each  is  with  service  pregnant;  each  reclaimed 
Is  as  a  kingdom  conquered,  where  to  reign. 
As  when  a  captain  rallies  to  the  fight 
His  scattered  legions,  and  beats  ruin  back, 
He,  on  the  field,  encamps,  well  pleased  in  mind. 
Yet  surely  him  shall  fortune  overtake, 
Him  smite  in  turn,  headlong  his  ensigns  drive; 
And  that  dear  land,  now  safe,  to-morrow  fall. 
But  he,  unthinking,  in  the  present  good 
Solely  delights,  and  all  the  camps  rejoice. 


137 


XXV 

IT  is  not  yours,  0  mother,  to  complain, 
Not,  mother,  yours  to  weep, 
Though  nevermore  your  son  again 
Shall  to  your  bosom  creep, 
Though  nevermore  again  you  watch  your 
baby  sleep. 

Though  in  the  greener  paths  of  earth, 

Mother  and  child,  no  more 
We  wander;  and  no  more  the  birth 

Of  me,  whom  once  you  bore, 

Seems  still  the  brave  reward  that  once  it 
seemed  of  yore; 

Though  as  all  passes,  day  and  night, 

The  seasons  and  the  years, 
From  you,  0  mother,  this  delight, 

This  also  disappears— 

Some  profit  yet  survives  of  all  your  pangs 
and  tears. 

The  child,  the  seed,  the  grain  of  corn, 
The  acorn  on  the  hill, 

138 


IT  IS  NOT   YOURS 

Each  for  some  separate  end  is  born 
In  season  fit,  and  still 

Each  must  in  strength  arise  to  work  the  almighty 
will. 

So  from  the  hearth  the  children  flee, 

By  that  almighty  hand 
Austerely  led;  so  one  by  sea 

Goes  forth,  and  one  by  land; 

Nor  aught  of  all  man's  sons  escapes  from  that 
command. 

So  from  the  sally  each  obeys 

The  unseen  almighty  nod; 
So  till  the  ending  all  their  ways 

Blindfolded  loth  have  trod: 

Nor  knew  their  task  at  all,  but  were  the  tools  of 
God. 

And  as  the  fervent  smith  of  yore 

Beat  out  the  glowing  blade, 
Nor  wielded  in  the  front  of  war 

The  weapons  that  he  made, 

But  in  the  tower  at  home  still  plied  his  ringing  trade ; 

So  like  a  sword  the  son  shall  roam 

On  nobler  missions  sent; 
And  as  the  smith  remained  at  home 

In  peaceful  turret  pent, 

So  sits  the  while  at  home  the  mother  well  content- 
139 


XXVI 

THE   SICK   CHILD 

Child.     f\  MOTHER,  lay  your  hand  on  my  brow! 
\J  0  mother,  mother,  where  am  I  now  ? 
Why  is  the  room  so  gaunt  and  great? 
Why  am  I  lying  awake  so  late  ? 


Mother.  Fear  not  at  all:  the  night  is  still. 

Nothing  is  here  that  means  you  ill- 
Nothing  but  lamps  the  whole  town  through. 
And  never  a  child  awake  but  you. 

Child.     Mother,  mother,  speak  low  in  my  ear, 

Some  of  the  things  are  so  great  and  near, 
Some  are  so  small  and  far  away, 
I  have  a  fear  that  I  cannot  say. 
What  have  I  done,  and  what  do  1  fear, 
And  why  are  you  crying,  mother  dear  ? 

Mother.  Out  in  the  city,  sounds  begin; 

Thank  the  kind  God,  the  carts  come  in! 
An  hour  or  two  more  and  God  is  so  kind, 
The  day  shall  be  blue  in  the  window-blind, 
Then  shall  my  child  go  sweetly  asleep. 
And  dream  of  the  birds  and  the  hills  of  sheep. 


140 


xxvn 

IN   MEMORIAM   F.   A.   S. 

YET,  0  stricken  heart,  remember,  0  remember 
How  of  human  days  he  lived  the  better  part. 
April  came  to  bloom  and  never  dim  December 
Breathed  its  killing  chills  upon  the  head  or  heart. 

Doomed  to  know  not  Winter,  only  Spring,  a  being 
Trod  the  flowery  April  blithely  for  a  while, 

Took  his  fill  of  music,  joy  of  thought  and  seeing, 
Came  and  stayed  and  went,  nor  ever  ceased  to  smile. 

Came  and  stayed  and  went,  and  now  when  all  is  finished, 
You  alone  have  crossed  the  melancholy  stream, 

Yours  the  pang,  but  his,  0  his,  the  undiminished 
Undecaying  gladness,  undeparted  dream. 

All  that  life  contains  of  torture,  toil,  and  treason, 
Shame,  dishonour,  death,  to  him  were  but  a  name. 

Here,  a  boy,  he  dwelt  through  all  the  singing  season 
And  ere  the  day  of  sorrow  departed  as  he  came. 

Davos,  1881. 


1« 


xxvni 

TO   MY    FATHER 

PEACE  and  her  huge  invasion  to  these  shores 
Puts  daily  home;  innumerable  sails 
Dawn  on  the  far  horizon  and  draw  near; 
Innumerable  loves,  uncounted  hopes 
To  our  wild  coasts,  not  darkling  now,  approach: 
Not  now  obscure,  since  thou  and  thine  are  there, 
And  bright  on  the  lone  isle,  the  foundered  reef, 
The  long,  resounding  foreland,  Pharos  stands. 

These  are  thy  works,  0  father,  these  thy  crown; 
Whether  on  high  the  air  be  pure,  they  shine 
Along  the  yellowing  sunset,  and  all  night 
Among  the  unnumbered  stars  of  God  they  shine; 
Or  whether  fogs  arise  and  far  and  wide 
The  low  sea-level  drown— each  finds  a  tongue 
And  all  night  long  the  tolling  bell  resounds: 
So  shine,  so  toll,  till  night  be  overpast, 
Till  the  stars  vanish,  till  the  sun  return, 
And  in  the  haven  rides  the  fleet  secure. 

In  the  first  hour,  the  seaman  in  his  skiff 
Moves  through  the  unmoving  bay,  to  where  the  town 
Its  earliest  smoke  into  the  air  upbreathes 
112 


TO   MY   FATHER 

And  the  rough  hazels  climb  along  the  beach. 
To  the  tugg'd  oar  the  distant  echo  speaks. 
The  ship  lies  resting,  where  by  reef  and  roost 
Thou  and  thy  lights  have  led  her  like  a  child. 

This  hast  thou  done,  and  I— can  I  be  base  ? 

I  must  arise,  0  father,  and  to  port 

Some  lost,  complaining  seaman  pilot  home. 


143 


XXIX 

IN   THE   STATES 

WITH  half  a  heart  I  wander  here 
As  from  an  age  gone  by 
A  brother— yet  though  young  in  years, 
An  elder  brother,  I. 

You  speak  another  tongue  than  mine, 
Though  both  were  English  born. 

I  towards  the  night  of  time  decline, 
You  mount  into  the  morn. 

Youth  shall  grow  great  and  strong  and  free, 

But  age  must  still  decay: 
To-morrow  for  the  States— for  me, 

England  and  Yesterday. 

San  Francisco. 


144 


XXX 

A  PORTRAIT 

I  AM  a  kind  of  farthing  dip, 
Unfriendly  to  the  nose  and  eyes; 
A  blue-behinded  ape,  I  skip 
Upon  the  trees  of  Paradise. 

At  mankind's  feast,  I  take  my  place 
In  solemn,  sanctimonious  state, 

And  have  the  air  of  saying  grace 
While  I  defile  the  dinner  plate. 

I  am  « the  smiler  with  the  knife,» 
The  battener  upon  garbage,  I— 

Dear  Heaven,  with  such  a  rancid  life, 
Were  it  not  better  far  to  die  ? 

Yet  still,  about  the  human  pale, 
I  love  to  scamper,  love  to  race, 

To  swing  by  my  irreverent  tail 
All  over  the  most  holy  place; 

And  when  at  length,  some  golden  day, 
The  unfailing  sportsman,  aiming  at, 

Shall  bag,  me— all  the  world  shall  say: 
Thank  God,  and  there's  an  end  of  that ! 
145 


XXXI 

SING  clearlier,  Muse,  or  evermore  be  still, 
Sing  truer  or  no  longer  sing! 
No  more  the  voice  of  melancholy  Jacques 
To  wake  a  weeping  echo  in  the  hill; 
But  as  the  boy,  the  pirate  of  the  spring, 
From  the  green  elm  a  living  linnet  takes, 
One  natural  verse  recapture— then  be  still. 


146 


XXXII 

A   CAMP1 

THE  bed  was  made,  the  room  was  fit, 
By  punctual  eve  the  stars  were  lit; 
The  air  was  still,  the  water  ran, 
No  need  was  there  for  maid  or  man, 
When  we  put  up,  my  ass  and  I, 
At  God's  green  caravanserai. 

1  From  Travels  with  a  Donkey. 


147 


XXXIII 

THE    COUNTRY   OF   THE   CAMISARDS l 


w 


E  travelled  in  the  print  of  olden  wars, 
Yet  all  the  land  was  green, 
And  love  we  found,  and  peace, 
Where  fire  and  war  had  been. 


They  pass  and  smile,  the  children  of  the  sword - 
No  more  the  sword  they  wield; 
And  0,  how  deep  the  corn 
Along  the  battlefield! 

1  From  Travels  with  a  Donkey. 


148 


XXXIV 

SKERRYVORE 

FOR  love  of  lovely  words,  and  for  the  sake 
Of  those,  my  kinsmen  and  my  countrymen, 
Who  early  and  late  in  the  windy  ocean  toiled 
To  plant  a  star  for  seamen,  where  was  then 
The  surfy  haunt  of  seals  and  cormorants: 
I,  on  the  lintel  of  this  cot,  inscribe 
The  name  of  a  strong  tower. 


149 


XXXV 

SKERRY VORE:  THE  PARALLEL 

HERE  all  is  sunny,  and  when  the  truant  gull 
Skims  the  green  level  of  the  lawn,  his  wing 
Dispetals  roses;  here  the  house  is  framed 
Of  kneaded  brick  and  the  plumed  mountain  pine, 
Such  clay  as  artists  fashion  and  such  wood 
As  the  tree-climbing  urchin  breaks.     But  there 
Eternal  granite  hewn  from  the  living  isle 
And  dowelled  with  brute  iron,  rears  a  tower 
That  from  its  wet  foundation  to  its  crown 
Of  glittering  glass,  stands,  in  the  sweep  of  winds, 
Immovable,  immortal,  eminent. 


160 


XXXVI 

7i/T~Y  house,  I  say.     But  hark  to  the  sunny  doves 
1 VJ-    That  make  my  roof  the  arena  of  their  loves, 
That  gyre  about  the  gable  all  day  long 
And  fill  the  chimneys  with  their  murmurous  song: 
Our  house,  they  say;  and  mine,  the  cat  declares 
And  spreads  his  golden  fleece  upon  the  chairs; 
And  mine  the  dog,  and  rises  stiff  with  wrath 
If  any  alien  foot  profane  the  path. 
So,  too,  the  buck  that  trimmed  my  terraces, 
Our  whilom  gardener,  called  the  garden  his; 
Who  now,  deposed,  surveys  my  plain  abode 
And  his  late  kingdom,  only  from  the  road. 


151 


XXXVII 

MY  body  which  my  dungeon  is, 
And  yet  my  parks  and  palaces: — 

Which  is  so  great  that  there  I  go 
All  the  day  long  to  and  fro, 
And  when  the  night  begins  to  fall 
Throw  down  my  bed  and  sleep,  while  all 
The  building  hums  with  wakefulness— 
Even  as  a  child  of  savages, 
When  evening  takes  her  on  her  way 
(She  having  roamed  a  summer's  day 
Along  the  mountain-sides  and  scalp), 
Sleeps  in  an  antre  of  that  alp:— 

Which  is  so  broad  and  high  that  there, 
As  in  the  topless  fields  of  air, 
My  fancy  soars  like  to  a  kite 
And  faints  in  the  blue  infinite:— 

Which  is  so  strong,  my  strongest  throes 
And  the  rough  world's  besieging  blows 
Not  break  it,  and  so  weak  withal, 
Death  ebbs  and  flows  in  its  loose  wall 
As  the  green  sea  in  fishers'  nets, 
And  tops  its  topmost  parapets:— 

Which  is  so  wholly  mine  that  I 
152 


Can  wield  its  whole  artillery, 
And  mine  so  little,  that  my  soul 
Dwells  in  perpetual  control, 
And  I  but  think  and  speak  and  do 
As  my  dead  fathers  move  me  to: — 

If  this  born  body  of  my  bones 
The  beggared  soul  so  barely  owns, 
What  money  passed  from  hand  to  hand, 
What  creeping  custom  of  the  land, 
What  deed  of  author  or  assign, 
Can  make  a  house  a  thing  of  mine? 


153 


xxxvm 

SAY  not  of  me  that  weakly  I  declined 
The  labours  of  my  sires,  and  fled  the  sea, 
The  towers  we  founded  and  the  lamps  we  lit, 
To  play  at  home  with  paper  like  a  child. 
But  rather  say:  In  the  afternoon  of  time 
A  strenuous  family  dusted  from  its  hands 
The  sand  of  granite,  and  beholding  far 
Along  the  sounding  coast  its  pyramids 
And  tall  memorials  catch  the  dying  sun, 
Smiled  well  content,  and  to  this  childish  task 
Around  the  fire  addressed  its  evening  hours. 


154 


book  n 

IN  SCOTS 


NOTE 

The  human  conscience  has  fled  of  late  the  troublesome  domain  of 
conduct  for  what  I  should  have  supposed  to  be  the  less  congenial 
field  of  art :  there  she  may  now  be  said  to  rage,  and  with  special 
severity  in  all  that  touches  dialect ;  so  that  in  every  novel  the 
letters  of  the  alphabet  are  tortured,  and  the  reader  wearied,  to  com- 
memorate shades  of  mispronunciation.  Xow  spelling  is  an  art  of 
great  difficulty  in  my  eyes,  and  I  am  inclined  to  lean  upon  the  print- 
er, even  in  common  practice,  rather  than  to  venture  abroad  upon 
new  quests.  And  the  Scots  tongue  has  an  orthography  of  its  own, 
lacking  neither  "  authority  nor  author."  Yet  the  temptation  is 
great  to  lend  a  little  guidance  to  the  bewildered  Englishman.  Some 
simple  phonetic  artifice  might  defend  your  verses  from  barbarous 
mishandling,  and  yet  not  injure  any  vested  interest.  So  it  seems 
at  first ;  but  there  are  rocks  ahead.  Thus,  if  I  wish  the  diphthong 
ou  to  have  its  proper  value,  I  may  write  oor  instead  of  our  ;  many 
have  done  so  and  lived,  and  the  pillars  of  the  universe  remained 
unshaken.  But  if  I  did  so,  and  came  presently  to  doun,  which  is 
the  classical  Scots  spelling  of  the  English  down,  I  should  begiD 
to  feel  uneasy ;  and  if  I  went  on  a  little  farther,  and  came  to  s 
classical  Scots  word,  like  stour  or  dour  or  clour,  I  should  know  pre- 
cisely where  I  was  —  that  is  to  say,  that  I  was  out  of  sight  of  land 
on  those  high  seas  of  spelling  reform  in  which  so  many  strong  swim 
mers  have  toiled  vainly.  To  some  the  situation  is  exhilarating ; 
as  for  me,  I  give  one  bubbling  cry  and  sink.  The  compromise  at 
which  I  have  arrived  is  indefensible,  and  I  have  no  thought  of  try- 

157 


NOTE 

ing  to  defend  it.  As  I  have  stuck  for  the  most  part  to  the  proper 
spelling,  I  append  a  table  of  some  common  vowel  sounds  which  no 
one  need  consult ;  and  just  to  prove  that  I  belong  to  my  age  and 
have  in  me  the  stuff  of  a  reformer,  I  have  used  modification  marks 
throughout.  Tims  I  can  tell  myself,  not  without  pride,  that  I  have 
added  a  fresh  stumbling-block  for  English  readers,  and  to  a  page  of 
print  in  my  native  tongue  have  lent  a  new  uncouthness.  Sed  non 
nobis. 

I  note  again,  that  among  our  new  dialecticians,  the  local  habitat 
of  every  dialect  is  given  to  the  square  mile.  I  could  not  emulate 
this  nicety  if  I  desired  ;  for  I  simply  wrote  my  Scots  as  well  as  I 
was  able,  not  caring  if  it  hailed  from  Lauderdale  or  Angus,  from 
the  Mearns  or  Galloway  ;  if  I  had  ever  heard  a  good  word,  I  used  it 
without  shame  ;  and  when  Scots  was  lacking,  or  the  rhyme  jibbed, 
I  was  glad  (like  my  betters)  to  fall  back  on  English.  For  all  that,  I 
own  to  a  friendly  feeling  for  the  tongue  of  Fergusson  and  of  Sir 
Walter,  both  Edinburgh  men  ;  and  I  confess  that  Burns  has  always 
sounded  in  my  ear  like  something  partly  foreign.  And  indeed  I  am 
from  the  Lothians  myself ;  it  is  there  I  heard  the  language  spoken 
about  my  childhood  ;  and  it  is  in  the  drawling  Lothian  voice  that  I 
repeat  it  to  n.yself.  Let  the  precisians  call  my  speech  that  of  the 
Lothians.  And  if  it  be  not  pure,  alas  !  what  matters  it?  The  day 
draws  near  when  this  illustrious  and  malleable  tongue  shall  be  quite 
forgotten ;  and  Burns's  Ayrshire,  and  Dr.  Macdonald's  Aberdeen- 
awa',  and  Scott's  brave,  metropolitan  utterance  will  be  all  equally 
the  ghosts  of  speech.  Till  then  I  would  love  to  have  my  hour  as  a 
native  Maker,  and  be  read  by  my  own  countryfolk  in  our  own 
dying  language  :  an  ambition  surely  rather  of  the  heart  than  of  the 
head,  so  restricted  as  it  is  in  prospect  of  endurance,  so  parochial  in 
bounds  of  space. 


158 


TABLE   OF  COMMON   SCOTTISH   VOWEL   SOUNDS 


I" 


ae  , 

open  A  as  in  rare. 

ai    ' 


a 

au  V  =  AW  as  in  law. 

aw/ 

ea  =  open  E  as  in  mere,  but  this  with  exceptions,  as  heather  = 
heather,  wean  =  wain,  lear  =  lair. 

ee  } 

ei    V  =  open  E  as  in  mere. 

ie   ) 

oa  =  open  O  as  in  more. 

ou  =  doubled  O  as  in  poor. 

ow=  OW  as  in  bower. 

u  =  doubled  O  as  in  poor. 

ui  or  ii  before  R  =  (say  roughly)  open  A  as  in  rare. 

ui  or  ii  before  any  other  consonant  =  (say  roughly)  close  I  as  in  grin. 

y  =  open  I  as  in  kite. 

i  =  pretty  nearly  what  you  please,  much  as  in  English.     Heaven 

guide  the  reader  through  that  labyrinth  !    But  in  Scots  it  dodges 

usually  from  the  short  I,  as  in  grin,  to  the  open  E,  as  in  mere. 

Find  and  blind,  I  may  remark,  are  pronounced  to  rhyme  with  the 

preterite  of  grin. 


159 


THE   MAKER   TO   POSTERITY 

FAR  'yont  amang  the  years  to  be 
When  a'  we  think,  an'  a'  we  see, 
An'  a'  we  luve,  's  been  dung  ajee 
By  time's  rouch  shouther, 
An'  what  was  richt  and  wrang  for  me 
Lies  mangled  throu'ther, 

It's  possible— it's  hardly  mair— 
That  some  ane,  ripin'  after  lear— 
Some  auld  professor  or  young  heir, 

If  still  there's  either — 
May  find  an'  read  me,  an'  be  sair 

Perplexed,  puir  brither! 

«  What  tongue  does  your  auld  bookie  speak  ?  » 
He'll  spier;  an'  I,  his  mou  to  steik: 
«No  bein'fit  to  write  in  Greek, 

I  wrote  in  Lallan, 
Dear  to  my  heart  as  the  peat  reek, 

Auld  as  Tantallon. 

«  Few  spak  it  then,  an'  noo  there's  nane. 
My  puir  auld  sangs  lie  a'  their  lane, 
161 


UNDERWOODS 

Their  gense,  that  aince  was  braw  an'  plain, 

Tint  a'thegether, 
Like  runes  upon  a  standin'  stane 

Amang  the  heather. 

«  But  think  not  you  the  brae  to  speel ; 
You,  tae,  maun  chow  the  bitter  peel ; 
For  a'  your  lear,  for  a'  your  skeel, 

Ye're  nanc  sae  lucky ; 
An'  things  are  mebbe  wiur  than  wed 

For  you,  my  buckie. 

«  The  hale  concern  (baith  hens  an'  eggs, 
Baith  books  art  writers,  stars  an'  clegs) 
Noo  stackers  upon  lowsent  legs, 

An'  wears  awa'; 
The  tack  o'  mankind,  near  the  dregs, 

Rins  unco  law. 

t  Your  book,  that  in  some  braw  new  tongue 
Ye  wrote  or  prentit,  preached  or  sung, 
Will  still  be  just  a  bairn,  an'  young 

In  fame  an'  years, 
Whan  the  hale  planet's  guts  are  dung 

About  your  ears ; 

*  An'  you,  sair  gruppin'  to  a  spar 
Or  whammled  wi'  some  bleezin'  star, 
Cryin'  to  ken  whaur  deil  ye  are, 

Hame,  France,  or  Flanders- 
Whang  sindry  like  a  railway  car 

An'  flic  in  danders.* 
162 


n 

ILLE  TERRARUM 

FRAE  nirly,  nippin',  Eas'lan'  breeze, 
Frae  Nor'lan'  snaw,  an'  haar  o'  seas, 
Weel  happit  in  your  gairden  trees, 

A  bonny  bit, 
Atween  the  muckle  Pentland's  knees, 
Secure  ye  sit. 

Beeches  an'  aiks  entwine  their  theek, 
An'  firs,  a  stench,  auld-farrant  clique. 
A'  simmer  day,  your  chimleys  reek, 

Couthy  and  bien; 
An'  here  an'  there  your  windies  keek 

Amang  the  green. 

A  pickle  plats  an'  paths  an'  posies, 
A  wheen  auld  gillyflowers  an'  roses: 
A  ring  o'  wa's  the  hale  encloses 

Frae  sheep  or  men; 
An'  there  the  auld  housie  beeks  an'  doses, 

A'  by  her  lane. 

The  gairdner  crooks  his  weary  back 
A'  day  in  the  pitaty-track, 

163 


UNDERWOODS 

Or  mebbe  stops  awhile  to  crack 

Wi'  Jane  the  cook, 
Or  at  some  buss,  worm-eaten-black, 

To  gie  a  look. 

Frae  the  high  hills  the  curlew  ca's; 
The  sheep  gang  baaing  by  the  wa's; 
Or  whiles  a  clan  o'  roosty  craws 

Cangle  thegether; 
The  wild  bees  seek  the  gairden  raws, 

Weariet  wi'  heather. 

Or  in  the  gloamin'  douce  an'  grey 
The  sweet- throat  mavis  tunes  her  lay; 
The  herd  comes  linkin'  doun  the  brae; 

An'  by  degrees 
The  muckle  siller  miine  maks  way 

Amang  the  trees. 

Here  aft  hae  I,  wi'  sober  heart, 
For  meditation  sat  apairt, 
When  orra  loves  or  kittle  art 

Perplexed  my  mind; 
Here  socht  a  balm  for  ilka  smart 

0'  humankind. 

Here  aft,  weel  neukit  by  my  lane, 
Wi'  Horace,  or  perhaps  Montaigne, 
The  mornin'  hours  hae  come  an'  gane 

Abiine  my  heid — 
I  wadnae  gi'en  a  chucky-stane 

For  a'  I'd  read. 
164 


ILLE  TEREARUM 

But  noo  the  auld  city,  street  by  street, 
An'  winter  fu'  o'  snaw  an'  sleet, 
Awhile  shut  in  my  gangrel  feet 

An'  goavin'  mettle; 
Noo  is  the  soopit  ingle  sweet, 

An'  liltin'  kettle. 

An'  noo  the  winter  winds  complain; 
Cauld  lies  the  glaur  in  ilka  lane; 
On  draigled  hizzie,  tautit  wean 

An'  drucken  lads, 
In  the  mirk  nicht,  the  winter  rain 

Dribbles  an'  blads. 

Whan  bugles  frae  the  Castle  rock, 
An'  beaten  drums  wi'  dowie  shock, 
Wauken,  at  cauld-rife  sax  o'clock, 

My  chitterin'  frame, 
I  mind  me  on  the  kintry  cock, 

The  kintry  hame. 

I  mind  me  on  yon  bonny  bield; 
An'  Fancy  traivels  far  afield 
To  gaither  a'  that  gairdens  yield 

0'  sun  an'  Simmer: 
To  hearten  up  a  dowie  chield, 

Fancy's  the  limmer! 


165 


m 


WHEN  aince  Aprile  has  fairly  come, 
An'  birds  may  bigg  in  winter's  lum, 
An'  pleisure's  spreid  for  a'  and  some 

0'  whatna  state, 
Love,  wi'  her  auld  recruitin'  drum, 
Than  taks  the  gate. 

The  heart  plays  dunt  wi'  main  an'  micht; 
The  lasses'  een  are  a'  sae  bricht, 
Their  dresses  are  sae  braw  an'  ticht, 

The  bonny  birdies!— 
Puir  winter  virtue  at  the  sicht 

Gangs  heels  ower  hurdies. 

An'  aye  as  love  frae  land  to  land 
Tirls  the  drum  wi'  eident  hand, 
A'  men  collect  at  her  command, 

Toun-bred  or  land'art, 
An'  follow  in  a  denty  band 

Her  gaucy  standart. 

An'  I,  wha  sang  o'  rain  an'  snaw, 
An'  weary  winter  weel  awa', 
Noo  busk  me  in  a  jacket  braw, 

An'  tak  my  place 
I*  the  ram-stam,  harum-scarum  raw, 

Wi'  smilin'  face. 

166 


IV 

A   MILE   AN'  A   BITTOCK 

A  MILE  an'  a  bittock,  a  mile  or  twa, 
Abiine  the  burn,  ayont  the  law, 
Davie  an'  Donal'  an'  Cherlie  an'  a', 
An'  the  miine  was  shinin'  clearly! 

Ane  went  hame  wi'  the  ither,  an'  then 
The  ither  went  hame  wi'  the  ither  twa  men, 
An'  baith  wad  return  him  the  service  again, 
An'  the  miine  was  shinin'  clearly! 

The  clocks  were  chappin'  in  house  an'  ha', 
Eleeven,  twal  an'  ane  an'  twa; 
An'  the  guidman's  face  was  turnt  to  the  wa', 
An'  the  miine  was  shinin'  clearly! 

A  wind  got  up  frae  affa  the  sea, 
It  blew  the  stars  as  dear's  could  be, 
It  blew  in  the  een  of  a'  o'  the  three, 
An'  the  miine  was  shinin'  clearly! 

Noo,  Davie  was  first  to  get  sleep  in  his  head, 
«The  best  o'  frien's  maun  twine,»  he  said; 
« I'm  weariet,  an'  here  I'm  awa'  to  my  bed.» 
An'  the  miine  was  shinin'  clearly! 

167 


UNDERWOODS 

Twa  o'  them  walkin'  an'  crackin'  their  lane, 
The  mornin'  licht  cam  grey  an'  plain, 
An'  the  birds  they  yammert  on  stick  an'  stane, 
An'  the  miine  was  shinin'  clearly! 

0  years  ayont,  0  years  awa', 
My  lads,  ye'll  mind  whate'er  befa'— 
My  lads,  ye'll  mind  on  the  bield  o'  the  law, 
When  the  miine  was  shinin'  clearly! 


168 


A   LOWDEN   SABBATH   MORN 

THE  clinkum-clank  o'  Sabbath  bells 
Noo  to  the  hoastin'  rookery  swells, 
Noo  faintin'  laigh  in  shady  dells, 

Sounds  far  an'  near, 
An'  through  the  simmer  kintry  tells 
Its  tale  o'  cheer. 

An'  noo,  to  that  melodious  play, 
A'  deidly  awn  the  quiet  sway— 
A'  ken  their  solemn  holiday, 

Bestial  an'  human, 
The  singin'  lintie  on  the  brae, 

The  restin'  plou'man. 

He,  mair  than  a'  the  lave  o'  men, 
His  week  completit  joys  to  ken; 
Half -dressed,  he  daunders  out  an'  in, 

Perplext  wi'  leisure; 
An'  his  raxt  limbs  he'll  rax  again 

Wi'  painfii'  pleesure. 

The  steerin'  mither  Strang  afit 
Noo  shoos  the  bairnies  but  a  bit; 
Noo  cries  them  ben,  their  Sinday  shiiit 
To  scart  upon  them, 

169 


UNDERWOODS 

Or  sweeties  in  their  pouch  to  pit, 
Wi'  blessin's  on  them. 

The  lasses,  clean  frae  tap  to  taes, 
Are  busked  in  crunklin'  underclaes; 
The  gartened  hose,  the  weel-filled  stays, 

The  nakit  shift, 
A'  bleached  on  bonny  greens  for  days, 

An'  white's  the  drift. 

An'  noo  to  face  the  kirkward  mile: 
The  guidman's  hat  o'  dacent  style, 
The  blackit  shoon,  we  noo  maun  fyle 

As  white's  the  miller: 
A  waefii'  peety  tae,  to  spile 

The  warth  o'  siller. 

Our  Marg'et,  aye  sae  keen  to  crack 
Douce-stappin'  in  the  stoury  track 
Her  emeralt  goun  a'  kiltit  back 

Frae  snawy  coats, 
White-ankled,  leads  the  kirkward  pack 

Wi'  Dauvit  Groats. 

A'  thocht  ahint,  in  runkled  breeks, 
A'  spiled  wi'  lyin'  by  for  weeks, 
The  guidman  follows  closs,  an'  cleiks 

The  sonsie  missis; 
His  sarious  face  at  aince  bespeaks 

The  day  that  this  is. 
170 


A  LOWDEN  SABBATH  MORN 

And  aye  an'  while  we  nearer  draw 
To  whaur  the  kirkton  lies  alaw, 
Mair  neebours,  comin'  saft  an'  slaw 

Frae  here  an'  there, 
The  thicker  thrang  the  gate  an'  caw 

The  stour  in  air. 

But  hark!  the  bells  frae  nearer  clang; 
To  rowst  the  slaw,  their  sides  they  bang; 
An'  see!  black  coats  a'ready  thrang 

The  green  kirkyaird; 
And  at  the  yett,  the  chestnuts  spang 

That  brocht  the  laird. 

The  solemn  elders  at  the  plate 
Stand  drinkin'  deep  the  pride  o'  state: 
The  practised  hands  as  gash  an'  great 

As  Lords  o'  Session; 
The  later  named,  a  wee  thing  blate 

In  their  expression. 

The  prentit  stanes  that  mark  the  deid, 
Wi'  lengthened  lip,  the  sariousread; 
Syne  wag  a  moraleesin'  heid, 

An'  then  an'  there 
Their  hirplin'  practice  an'  their  creed 

Try  hard  to  square. 

It's  here  our  Merren  lang  has  lain, 
A  wee  bewast  the  table-stane; 

171 


UNDERWOODS 

An'  yon's  the  grave  o'  Sandy  Blane; 

An'  further  ower, 
The  mither's  brithers,  dacent  men! 

Lie  a'  the  fower. 

Here  the  guidman  sail  bide  awee 
To  dwall  amang  the  deid;  to  see 
Auld  faces  clear  in  fancy's  e'e; 

Belike  to  hear 
Auld  voices  fa'  in  saft  an'  slee 

On  fancy's  ear. 

Thus,  on  the  day  o'  solemn  things, 
The  bell  that  in  the  steeple  swings 
To  fauld  a  scaittered  faim'ly  rings 

Its  walcome  screed; 
An'  just  a  wee  thing  nearer  brings 

The  quick  an'  deid. 

But  noo  the  bell  is  ringin'  in; 
To  tak  their  places,  folk  begin; 
The  minister  himsel'  will  shiine 

Be  up  the  gate, 
Filled  fu'  wi'  clavers  about  sin 

An'  man's  estate. 

The  tunes  are  up— French,  to  be  shiire, 
The  faithfii'  French,  an'  twa-three  mair; 
The  auld  prezentor,  hoastin'  sair, 
Wales  out  the  portions, 
172 


A  LOWDEN  SABBATH   MORN 

An'  yirks  the  time  into  the  air 
Wi'  queer  contortions. 

Follows  the  prayer,  the  readin'  next, 
An'  than  the  fisslin'  for  the  text— 
The  twa-three  last  to  find  it,  vext 

But  kind  o'  proud ; 
An'  than  the  peppermints  are  raxt, 

An'  southernwood. 

For  noo's  the  time  whan  pows  are  seen 
Nid-noddin'  like  a  mandareen; 
When  tenty  mithers  stap  a  preen 

In  sleepin'  weans; 
An'  nearly  half  the  parochine 

Forget  their  pains. 

There's  just  a  waukrif  twa  or  three: 
Thrawn  commentautors  sweer  to  'gree, 
Weans  glowrin'  at  the  bumlin'  bee 

On  windie-glasses, 
Or  lads  that  tak  a  keek  a-glee 

At  sonsie  lasses. 

Himsel',  meanwhile,  frae  whaur  he  cocks 
An'  bobs  belaw  the  soundin'-box, 
The  treesures  of  his  words  unlocks 

Wi'  prodigality, 
An'  deals  some  unco  dingin'  knocks 

To  infidality. 
173 


UNDERWOODS 

Wi'  sappy  unction,  hoo  he  burkes 
The  hopes  o'  men  that  trust  in  works, 
Expounds  the  fau'ts  o'  ither  kirks, 

An'  shaws  the  best  o'  them 
No  muckle  better  than  mere  Turks, 

When  a's  confessed  o'  them. 

Bethankit!  what  a  bonny  creed! 

What  mair  would  ony  Christian  need  ?— 

The  braw  words  rumm'le  ower  his  heid, 

Nor  steer  the  sleeper; 
And  in  their  restin'  graves,  the  deid 

Sleep  aye  the  deeper. 

Note. —  It  may  be  guessed  by  some  that  I  had  a  certain  parish  in 
my  eye,  and  this  makes  it  proper  I  should  add  a  word  of  disclamation. 
In  my  time  there  have  been  two  ministers  in  that  parish.  Of  the 
first  I  have  a  special  reason  to  speak  well,  even  had  there  been  any  to 
think  ill.  The  second  I  have  of  en  met  in  private  and  long  (in  the 
due  phrase)  "sat  under"  in  his  church,  and  neither  here  nor  there 
have  I  heard  an  unkind  or  ugly  word  upon  his  lips.  The  preacher  of 
the  text  had  thus  no  original  in  that  particular  parish  ;  but  when  I 
was  a  boy,  he  might  have  been  observed  in  many  others  ;  he  was  then 
(like  the  schoolmaster)  abroad  ;  and  by  recent  advices,  it  would  seem 
he  has  not  yet  entirely  disappeared. 


174 


VI 

THE   SPAEWIFE 

01  wad  like  to  ken— to  the  beggar-wife  says  I— 
.  Why  chops  are  guid  to  brander  and  nane  sae  guid 
to  fry. 
An'  siller,  that's  sae  braw  to  keep,  is  brawer  still  to  gi'e. 
— It's  gey  an'  easy  spierin',  says  the  beggar-wife  to  me. 

0,  I  wad  like  to  ken— to  the  beggar- wife  says  I— 

Hoo  a'  things  come  to  be  whaur  we  find  them  when  we  try, 

The  lasses  in  their  claes  an'  the  fishes  in  the  sea. 

— It's  gey  an'  easy  spierin',  says  the  beggar-wife  to  me. 

0, 1  wad  like  to  ken— to  the  beggar-wife  says  I— 

Why  lads  are  a'  to  sell  an'  lasses  a'  to  buy; 

An'  naebody  for  dacency  but  barely  twa  or  three. 

— It's  gey  an'  easy  spierin',  says  the  beggar-wife  to  me. 

0,  I  wad  like  to  ken— to  the  beggar-wife  says  I— 

Gin  death's  as  shiire  to  men  as  killin'  is  to  kye, 

Why  God  has  filled  the  yearth  sae  fu'  o'  tasty  things  to  pree. 

—It' 8  gey  an'  easy  spierin',  says  the  beggar- wife  to  me. 

175 


UNDERWOODS 

0, 1  wad  like  to  ken— to  the  beggar-wife  says  I— 
The  reason  o'  the  cause  an'  the  wherefore  o'  the  why, 
Wi'  mony  anither  riddle  brings  the  tear  into  my  e'e. 
—It's  gey  an'  easy  spierin',  says  the  beggar-wife  to  me. 


176 


vn 

THE   BLAST— 1875 

IT'S  rainin'.     Weet's  the  gairden  sod, 
Weet  the  lang  roads  whaur  gangrels  plod- 
A  maist  unceevil  thing  o'  God 

In  mid  July — 
If  ye'll  just  curse  the  sneckdraw,  dod! 
An'  sae  wull  I! 

He's  a  braw  place  in  Heev'n,  ye  ken, 
An'  lea's  us  puir,  forjaskit  men 
Clamjamfried  in  the  but  and  ben 

He  ca's  the  earth— 
A  wee  bit  inconvenient  den 

No  muckle  worth; 

An'  whiles,  at  orra  times,  keeks  out, 
Sees  what  puir  mankind  are  about; 
An'  if  He  can,  I've  little  doubt, 

Upsets  their  plans;  * 

He  hates  a'  mankind,  brainch  and  root, 

And  a'  that's  man's. 

An'  whiles,  whan  they  tak  heart  again, 
An'  life  i'  the  sun  looks  braw  an'  plain, 
177 


UNDERWOODS 

Doun  comes  a  jaw  o'  droukin'  rain 

Upon  their  honours- 
God  sends  a  spate  out  ower  the  plain, 

Or  mebbe  thun'ers. 

Lord  safe  us,  life's  an  unco  thing! 
Simmer  an'  Winter,  Yule  an'  Spring, 
The  damned,  dour-heartit  seasons  bring 

A  feck  o'  trouble. 
I  wadnae  try't  to  be  a  king— 

No,  nor  for  double. 

But  since  we're  in  it,  willy-nilly, 

We  maun  be  watchfii',  wise  an'  skilly, 

An'  no  mind  ony  ither  billy, 

Lassie  nor  God. 
But  drink— that's  my  best  counsel  till  'e: 

Sae  tak  the  nod. 


178 


vm 

THE   COUNTERBLAST— 1886 

MY  bonny  man,  the  warld,  it's  true, 
Was  made  for  neither  me  nor  you; 
It's  just  a  place  to  warstle  through, 

As  Job  confessed  o't; 
And  aye  the  best  that  we'll  can  do 
Is  mak  the  best  o't. 

There's  rowth  o'  wrang,  I'm  free  to  say: 
The  simmer  brunt,  the  winter  blae, 
The  face  of  earth  a'  fyled  wi'  clay 

An'  dour  wi'  chuckies, 
An'  life  a  rough  an'  land'art  play 

For  country  buckies. 

An'  food's  anither  name  for  clart; 
An'  beasts  an'  brambles  bite  an'  scart; 
An'  what  would  we  be  like,  my  heart! 

If  bared  o'  claethin'  ? 
— Aweel,  I  cannae  mend  your  cart: 

It's  that  or  naothin'. 

A  feck  o'  folk  frae  first  to  last 
Have  through  this  queer  experience  past; 
179 


UNDERWOODS 

Twa-three,  I  ken,  just  damn  an'  blast 

The  hale  transaction; 
But  twa-three  ithers,  east  an'  wast, 

Fand  satisfaction. 

Whaur  braid  the  briery  muirs  expand, 

A  waefii'  an'  a  weary  land, 

The  bumblebees,  a  gowden  band, 

Are  blithely  hingin'; 
An'  there  the  canty  wanderer  fand 

The  laverock  singin'. 

Trout  in  the  burn  grow  great  as  herr'n'; 
The  simple  sheep  can  find  their  fair'n"; 
The  wind  blaws  clean  about  the  cairn 

Wi'  caller  air; 
The  muircock  an'  the  barefit  bairn 

Are  happy  there. 

Sic-like  the  howes  o'  life  to  some: 

Green  loans  whaur  they  ne'er  fash  their  thumb; 

But  mark  the  muckle  winds  that  come, 

Soopin'  an'  cool, 
Or  hear  the  powrin'  burnie  drum 

In  the  shilfa's  pool. 

The  evil  wi'  the  guid  they  tak; 
They  ca'  a  grey  thing  grey,  no  black; 
To  a  steigh  brae,  a  stubborn  back 
Addressin'  daily; 

180 


THE  COUNTERBLAST- 1886 

An'  up  the  rude,  unbieldy  track 
0'  life,  gang  gaily. 

What  you  would  like's  a  palace  ha', 
Or  Sinday  parlour  dink  an'  braw 
Wi'  a'  things  ordered  in  a  raw 

By  denty  leddies. 
Weel,  than,  ye  cannae  hae't:  that's  a' 

That  to  be  said  is. 

An'  since  at  life  ye've  ta'en  the  grue, 
An'  winnae  blithely  hirsle  through, 
Ye've  fund  the  very  thing  to  do— 

That's  to  drink  speerit; 
An'  shiine  we'll  hear  the  last  o'  you— 

An'  blithe  to  hear  it! 

The  shoon  ye  coft,  the  life  ye  lead, 
Ithers  will  heir  when  aince  ye're  deid; 
They'll  heir  your  tasteless  bite  o'  breid, 

An'  find  it  sappy; 
They'll  to  your  dulefii'  house  succeed, 

An'  there  be  happy. 

As  whan  a  glum  an'  fractious  wean 
Has  sat  an'  sullened  by  his  lane 
Till,  wi'  a  rowstin'  skelp,  he's  ta'en 

An'  shoo'd  to  bed— 
The  ither  bairns  a'  fa'  to  play'n', 

As  gleg's  a  gled. 

181 


IX 

THE   COUNTERBLAST  IRONICAL 

IT'S  strange  that  God  should  fash  to  frame 
The  yearth  and  lift  sae  hie, 
An'  clean  forget  to  explain  the  same 
To  a  gentleman  like  me. 

They  gutsy,  donnered  ither  folk, 

Their  weird  they  weel  may  dree; 
But  why  present  a  pig  in  a  poke 

To  a  gentleman  like  me  ? 

They  ither  folk  their  parritch  eat 

An'  sup  their  sugared  tea; 
But  the  mind  is  no  to  be  wyled  wi'  meat 

Wi'  a  gentleman  like  me. 

They  ither  folk,  they  court  their  joes 

At  gloamin'  on  the  lea; 
But  they're  made  of  a  commoner  clay,  I  suppose, 

Than  a  gentleman  like  me. 

They  ither  folk,  for  richt  or  wrang, 

They  suffer,  bleed,  or  dee; 
But  a'  thir  things  are  an  emp'y  sang 

To  a  gentleman  like  me. 

182 


THE   COUNTERBLAST  IRONICAL 

It's  a  different  thing  that  I  demand, 

Tho'  humble  as  can  be— 
A  statement  fair  in  my  Maker's  hand 

To  a  gentleman  like  me: 

A  clear  account  writ  fair  an'  broad, 

An'  a  plain  apologie; 
Or  the  deevil  a  ceevil  word  to  God 

From  a  gentleman  like  me. 


183 


THEIR   LAUREATE   TO   AN   ACADEMY  CLASS   DINNER   CLUB 

DEAR  Thamson  class,  whaure'er  I  gang 
It  aye  comes  ower  me  wi'  a  spang: 
xLordsake!  they  Thamson  lads — (deil  hang 

Or  else  Lord  mend  them!)— 
An'  that  wanchancy  annual  sang 
I  ne'er  can  send  them ! » 

Straucht,  at  the  name,  a  trusty  tyke, 
My  conscience  girrs  ahint  the  dyke; 
Straucht  on  my  hinderlands  I  fyke 

To  find  a  rhyme  t'  ye; 
Pleased— although  mebbe  no  pleased-like— 

To  gie  my  time  t'  ye. 

«  Weel,*  an'  says  you,  wi'  heavin'  breist, 
*Saefar,  sae  guid,  but  what's  the  neist? 
Yearly  we  gaither  to  the  feast, 

A'  hopefii'  men- 
Yearly  we  skelloch  <  Hang  the  beast — 

Nae  sang  again !  > » 

My  lads,  an'  what  am  I  to  say  ? 
Ye  shiirely  ken  the  Muse's  way: 

184 


TO  AN   ACADEMY   CLASS  DINNER  CLUB 

Yestreen,  as  gleg's  a  tyke— the  day, 

Thrawn  like  a  cuddy: 
Her  conduc',  that  to  her's  a  play, 

Deith  to  a  body. 

Aft  whan  I  sat  an'  made  my  mane, 
Aft  whan  I  laboured  burd-alane, 
Fishin'  for  rhymes  an'  findin'  nane, 

Or  nane  were  fit  for  ye— 
Ye  judged  me  cauld's  a  chucky-stane— 

No  car"n'  a  bit  for  ye ! 

But  saw  ye  ne'er  some  pingein'  bairn 

As  weak  as  a  pitaty-par'n'— 

Less  used  wi'  guidin'  horse-shoe  airn 

Than  steerin'  crowdie — 
Packed  aff  his  lane,  by  moss  an'  cairn, 

To  ca'  the  howdie. 

Wae's  me,  for  the  puir  callant  than! 
He  wambles  like  a  poke  o'  bran, 
An'  the  lowse  rein,  as  hard's  he  can, 

Pu's,  trem'lin'  handit; 
Till,  blaff !  upon  his  hinderlan' 

Behauld  him  landit. 

Sic-like— I  awn  the  weary  fac'— 
Whan  on  my  muse  the  gate  I  tak, 
An'  see  her  gleed  e'e  raxin'  back 
To  keek  ahint  her;— 
186 


UNDERWOODS 

To  me,  the  brig  o'  Heev'n  gangs  black 
As  blackest  winter. 

«Lordsake!  we're  aff,»  thinks  I,  «  but  whaurt 
On  what  abhorred  an'  whinny  scaur, 
Or  whammled  in  what  sea  o'  glaur, 

Will  she  desert  me  ? 
An'  will  she  just  disgrace?  or  waur— 

Will  she  no  hurt  me?» 

Kittle  the  quaere!    But  at  least 

The  day  I've  backed  the  fashious  beast, 

While  she,  wi'  mony  a  spang  an'  reist, 

Flang  heels  ower  bonnet; 
An'  a'  triumphant— for  your  feast, 

Hae!  there's  your  sonnet! 


186 


XI 

EMBRO   HIE   KIRK 

THE  Lord  Himsel'  in  former  days 
Waled  out  the  proper  times  for  praise 
An'  named  the  proper  kind  o'  claes 

For  folk  to  preach  in: 
Preceese  and  in  the  chief  o'  ways 
Important  teachin'. 

He  ordered  a'  things  late  and  air'; 
He  ordered  folk  to  stand  at  prayer. 
(Although  I  cannae  just  mind  where 

He  gave  the  warnin'.) 
An'  pit  pomatum  on  their  hair 

On  Sabbath  mornin'. 

The  hale  o'  life  by  His  commands 
Was  ordered  to  a  body's  hands; 
But  see !  this  corpus  juris  stands 

By  a'  forgotten; 
An'  God's  religion  in  a'  lands 

Is  deid  an'  rotten. 

While  thus  the  lave  o'  mankind's  lost, 
0'  Scotland  still  God  maks  His  boast — 

187 


UNDERWOODS 

Puir  Scotland,  on  whase  barren  coast 

A  score  or  twa 
Auld  wives  wi'  mutches  an*  a  hoast 

Still  keep  His  law. 

In  Scotland,  a  wheen  canty,  plain, 
Douce,  kintry-leevin'  folk  retain 
The  Truth— or  did  so  aince— alane 

Of  a'  men  leevin'; 
An'  noo  just  twa  o'  them  remain— 

Just  Begg  an'  Niven. 

For  noo,  unfaithfii'  to  the  Lord 
Auld  Scotland  joins  the  rebel  horde; 
Her  human  hymn-books  on  the  board 

She  noo  displays: 
An'  Embro  Hie  Kirk's  been  restored 

In  popish  ways. 

0  punctum  temporis  for  action 
To  a'  o'  the  reformin'  faction, 
If  yet,  by  ony  act  or  paction, 

Thocht,  word,  or  sermon, 
This  dark  an'  damnable  transaction 

Micht  yet  determine! 

For  see— as  Doctor  Begg  explains— 
Hoo  easy  't's  dune!  a  pickle  weans, 
Wha  in  the  Hie  Street  gaither  stanes 
By  his  instruction, 

188 


EMBRO   HIE  KIRK 

The  uncovenantit,  pentit  panes 
Ding  to  destruction. 

Up,  Niven,  or  ower  late— an'  dash 
Laigh  in  the  glaur  that  carnal  hash; 
Let  spires  and  pews  wi'  gran'  stramash 

Thegether  fa'; 
The  rumlin'  kist  o'  whustles  smash 

In  pieces  sma'. 

Noo  choose  ye  out  a  waie  hammer; 
About  the  knottit  buttress  clam'er; 
Alang  the  steep  roof  stoyt  an'  stammer, 

A  gate  mischancy; 
On  the  aul'  spire,  the  bells'  hie  cham'er, 

Dance  your  bit  dancie. 

Ding,  devel,  dunt,  destroy,  an'  ruin, 
Wi'  carnal  stanes  the  square  bestrewin', 
Till  your  loud  chaps  frae  Kyle  to  Fruin, 

Frae  Hell  to  Heeven, 
Tell  the  guid  wark  that  baith  are  doin'— 

Baith  Begg  an'  Niven. 


189 


xn 

THE   SCOTSMAN'S   RETURN    FROM    ABROAD 

In  a  letter  from  Mr.  Thomson  to  Mr.  Johnstone 

IN  mony  a  foreign  pairt  I've  been, 
An'  mony  an  unco  ferlie  seen, 
Since,  Mr.  Johnstone,  you  and  I 
Last  walkit  upon  Cocklerye. 
Wi'  gleg,  observant  een,  I  past 
By  sea  an'  land,  through  East  an'  Wast, 
And  still  in  ilka  age  an'  station 
Saw  naething  but  abomination. 
In  thir  uncovenantit  lands 
The  gangrel  Scot  uplifts  his  hands 

At  Lok  of  a'  sectarian  fiish'n, 
An'  cauld  religious  destitution. 
He  rins,  puir  man,  frae  place  to  place, 
Tries  a'  their  graceless  means  o'  grace, 
Preacher  on  preacher,  kirk  on  kirk— 
This  yin  a  stot  an'  thon  a  stirk— 
A  bletherin'  clan,  no  warth  a  preen, 
As  bad  as  Smith  of  Aiberdeen! 

At  last,  across  the  weary  faem, 
Frae  far,  outlandish  pairts  I  came. 
On  ilka  side  o'  me  I  fand 
Fresh  tokens  o'  my  native  land. 
100 


THE  SCOTSMAN'S  RETURN  FROM  ABROAD 

Wi'  whatna  joy  I  hailed  them  a'— 
The  hilltaps  standin'  raw  by  raw, 
The  public  house,  the  Hielan'  birks, 
And  a'  the  bonny  U.  P.  kirks! 
But  maistly  thee,  the  bluid  o'  Scots, 
Frae  Maidenkirk  to  John  o'  Grots, 
The  king  o'  drinks,  as  I  conceive  it, 
Talisker,  Isla,  or  Glenlivet! 

For  after  years  wi'  a  pockmantie 

Frae  Zanzibar  to  Alicante, 

In  mony  a  fash  and  sair  affliction 

I  gie't  as  my  sincere  conviction— 

Of  a'  their  foreign  tricks  an'  pliskies, 

I  maist  abominate  their  whiskies. 

Nae  doot,  themsels,  they  ken  it  weel, 

An'  wi'  a  hash  o'  leemon  peel, 

And  ice  an'  siccan  filth,  they  ettle 

The  stawsome  kind  o'  goo  to  settle; 

Sic  wersh  apothecary's  broos  wi' 

As  Scotsmen  scorn  to  fyle  their  moo's  wi'. 

An',  man,  I  was  a  blithe  hame-comer 
Whan  first  I  syndit  out  my  rummer. 
Ye  should  hae  seen  me  then,  wi'  care 
The  less  important  pairts  prepare; 
Syne,  weel  contentit  wi'  it  a', 
Pour  in  the  speerits  wi'  a  jaw! 
I  didnae  drink,  I  didnae  speak,— 
I  only  snowkit  up  the  reek. 
191 


UNDERWOODS 

I  was  sae  pleased  therein  to  paidle, 
I  sat  an'  plowtered  wi'  my  ladle. 

An'  blithe  was  I,  the  morrow's  morn, 
To  daunder  through  the  stookit  corn, 
And  after  a'  my  strange  mishanters, 
Sit  doun  amang  my  ain  dissenters. 
An',  man,  it  was  a  joy  to  me 
The  pu'pit  an'  the  pews  to  see, 
The  pennies  dirlin'  in  the  plate, 
The  elders  lookin'  on  in  state; 
An'  'mang  the  first,  as  it  befell, 
Wha  should  I  see,  sir,  but  yoursel'! 

I  was,  and  I  will  no  deny  it, 

At  the  first  gliff  a  hantle  tryit 

To  see  yoursel'  in  sic  a  station— 

It  seemed  a  doubtfii'  dispensation. 

The  feelin'  was  a  mere  digression; 

For  shiine  I  understood  the  session, 

An'  mindin'  Aiken  an'  M'Neil, 

I  wondered  they  had  dune  sae  weel. 

I  saw  I  had  mysel'  to  blame; 

For  had  I  but  remained  at  hame, 

Aiblins— though  no  ava' deservin'  't— 

They  micht  hae  named  your  humble  servant. 

The  kirk  was  filled,  the  door  was  steeked; 
Up  to  the  pu'pit  ance  I  keeked; 
I  was  mair  pleased  than  I  can  tell — 
It  was  the  minister  himsel'! 

192 


THE  SCOTSMAN'S  RETURN  FROM  ABROAD 

Proud,  proud  was  I  to  see  his  face, 

After  sae  lang  awa'  frae  grace. 

Pleased  as  I  was,  I'm  no  denyin' 

Some  maitters  were  not  edifyin'; 

For  first  I  f and— an'  here  was  news!— 

Mere  hymn-books  cockin'  in  the  pews— 

A  humanised  abomination, 

Unfit  for  ony  congregation. 

Syne,  while  I  still  was  on  the  tenter, 

I  scunnered  at  the  new  prezentor; 

I  thocht  him  gesterin'  an'  cauld — 

A  sair  declension  frae  the  auld. 

Syne,  as  though  a'  the  faith  was  wreckit, 

The  prayer  was  not  what  I'd  exspeckit. 

Himsel',  as  it  appeared  to  me, 

Was  no  the  man  he  iised  to  be. 

But  just  as  I  was  growin'  vext 

He  waled  a  maist  judeecious  text, 

An',  launchin'  into  his  prelections, 

Swoopt,  wi'  a  skirl,  on  a'  defections. 

0  what  a  gale  was  on  my  speerit 

To  hear  the  p'ints  o'  doctrine  clearit, 
And  a'  the  horrors  o'  damnation 
Set  f urth  wi'  f aithf ii'  ministration ! 
Nae  shauchlin'  testimony  here — 
We  were  a'  damned,  an'  that  was  clear. 

1  owned,  wi'  gratitude  an'  wonder, 
He  was  a  pleisure  to  sit  under. 

193 


XIII 

I  ATE  in  the  nicht  in  bed  I  lay, 
J  The  winds  were  at  their  weary  play, 
An'  tirlin'  wa's  an'  skirlin'  wae 

Through  Heev'n  they  battered; — 
On-ding  o'  hail,  on-blaff  o'  spray, 
The  tempest  blattered. 

The  masoned  house  it  dinled  through; 
It  dung  the  ship,  it  cowped  the  coo'; 
The  rankit  aiks  it  overthrew, 

Had  braved  a'  weathers; 
The  Strang  sea-gleds  it  took  an'  blew 

Awa'  like  feathers. 

The  thrawes  o'  fear  on  a'  were  shed, 

An'  the  hair  rose,  an'  slumber  fled, 

An'  lichts  were  lit  an'  prayers  were  said 

Through  a'  the  kintry; 
An'  the  cauld  terror  clum  in  bed 

Wi'  a'  an'  sindry. 

To  hear  in  the  pit-mirk  on  hie 

The  brangled  collieshangie  flie, 

The  warl',  they  thocht,  wi'  land  an'  sea, 

Itsel'  wad  cowpit; 
An'  for  auld  aim,  the  smashed  debris 

By  God  be  rowpit. 
194 


LATE   IN  THE  NICHT 

Meanwhile  frae  far  Aldebaran, 
To  folks  wi'  talescopes  in  han', 
0'  ships  that  cowpit,  winds  that  ran, 

Nae  sign  was  seen, 
But  the  wee  warl'  in  sunshine  span 

As  bricht's  a  preen. 

I,  tae,  by  God's  especial  grace, 
Dwall  denty  in  a  bieldy  place, 
Wi'  hosened  feet,  wi'  shaven  face, 

Wi'  dacent  mainners: 
A  grand  example  to  the  race 

0'  tautit  sinners! 

The  wind  may  blaw,  the  heathen  rage, 
The  deil  may  start  on  the  rampage;— 
The  sick  in  bed,  the  thief  in  cage— 

What's  a'  to  me  ? 
Cosh  in  my  house,  a  sober  sage, 

I  sit  an'  see. 

An'  whiles  the  bluid  spangs  to  my  bree, 
To  lie  sae  saft,  to  live  sae  free, 
While  better  men  maun  do  an'  die 

In  unco  places. 
«Whaur's  God?*  I  cry,  an'  «Whae  is  me 

To  hae  sic  graces  !  » 

I  mind  the  fecht  the  sailors  keep, 
But  fire  or  can'le,  rest  or  sleep, 
195 


UNDERWOODS 

In  darkness  an'  the  muckle  deep; 

An'  mind  beside 
The  herd  that  on  the  hills  o'  sheep 

Has  wandered  wide. 

I  mind  me  on  the  hoastin'  weans— 
The  penny  joes  on  causey  stanes— 
The  auld  folk  wi'  the  crazy  banes, 

Baith  auld  an'  puir, 
That  aye  maun  thole  the  winds  an'  rains, 

An'  labour  sair. 

An'  whiles  I'm  kind  o'  pleased  a  blink, 
An'  kind  o'  fleyed  forby,  to  think, 
For  a'  my  rowth  o'  meat  an'  drink 

An'  waste  o'  crumb, 
I'll  mebbe  have  to  thole  wi'  skink 

In  Kingdom  Come. 

For  God  whan  jowes  the  Judgment  bell, 
Wi'  His  ain  Hand,  His  Leevin'  Sel', 
Sail  ryve  the  guid  (as  Prophets  tell) 

Frae  them  that  had  it; 
And  in  the  reamin'  pat  o'  Hell, 

The  rich  be  scaddit. 

0  Lord,  if  this  indeed  be  sae, 
Let  daw'  that  sair  an'  happy  day! 
Again'  the  warl',  grawn  auld  an'  gray, 

Up  wi'  your  aixe! 
And  let  the  puir  enjoy  their  play— 

I'll  thole  my  paiks. 

196 


XIV 

MY  conscience! 

OF  a'  the  ills  that  flesh  can  fear, 
The  loss  o'  frien's,  the  lack  o'  gear, 
A  yowlin'  tyke,  a  glandered  mear, 

A  lassie's  nonsense — 
There's  just  ae  thing  I  cannae  bear, 
An'  that's  my  conscience. 

Whan  day  (an'  a'  excuse)  has  gane, 
An'  wark  is  dime,  and  duty's  plain, 
An'  to  my  chalmer  a'  my  lane 

I  creep  apairt, 
My  conscience!  hoo  the  yammerin'  pain 

Stends  to  my  heart! 

A'  day  wi'  various  ends  in  view 
The  hairsts  o'  time  I  had  to  pu', 
An'  made  a  hash  wad  staw  a  soo, 

Let  be  a  man!— 
My  conscience !  whan  my  han's  were  f  u', 

Whaur  were  ye  than  ? 

An'  there  were  a'  the  lures  o'  life, 
There  pleesure  skirlin'  on  the  fife, 
197 


UNDERWOODS 

There  anger,  wi'  the  hotchin'  knife 

Ground  shairp  in  Hell— 
My  conscience!— you  that's  like  a  wife!— 

Whaur  was  yoursel'  ? 

I  ken  it  fine:  just  waitin'  here, 

To  gar  the  evil  waur  appear, 

To  clart  the  guid,  confuse  the  clear, 

Misca'  the  great, 
My  conscience!  an'  to  raise  a  steer 

When  a's  ower  late. 

Sic-like,  some  tyke  grawn  auld  and  blind, 
Whan  thieves  brok'  through  the  gear  to  p'ind, 
Has  lain  his  dozened  length  an'  grinned 

At  the  disaster; 
An'  the  morn's  mornin',  wud's  the  wind, 

Yokes  on  his  master. 


198 


XV 

TO  DOCTOR   JOHN  BROWN 

( Whan  the  dear  doctor,  dear  to  a' 
Was  still  amang  us  here  belaw, 
I  set  my  pipes  his  praise  to  Maw 

Wi'  a'  my  speerit ; 
But  noo,  dear  Doctor,!  he's  awa\ 

An'  ne'er  can  hear  it.) 

BY  Lyne  and  Tyne,  by  Thames  and  Tees, 
1  By  a'  the  various  river-Dee's, 
In  Mars  and  Manors  'yont  the  seas 

Or  here  at  hame, 
Whaure'er  there's  kindly  folk  to  please, 
They  ken  your  name. 

They  ken  your  name,  they  ken  your  tyke, 
They  ken  the  honey  from  your  byke; 
But  mebbe  after  a'  your  fyke 

(The  truth  to  tell), 
It's  just  your  honest  Rab  they  like, 

An'  no  yoursel'. 

As  at  the  gowff,  some  canny  play"r 
Should  tee  a  common  ba'  wi'  care— 

199 


UNDERWOODS 

Should  flourish  and  deleever  fair 

His  souple  shintie — 
An'  the  ba'  rise  into  the  air, 

A  leevin'  lintie: 

Sae  in  the  game  we  writers  play, 
There  comes  to  some  a  bonny  day, 
When  a  dear  ferlie  shall  repay 

Their  years  o'  strife, 
An'  like  you  Rab,  their  things  o'  clay, 

Spreid  wings  o'  life. 

Ye  scarce  deserved  it,  I'm  afraid— 
You  that  had  never  learned  the  trade, 
But  just  some  idle  mornin'  strayed 

Into  the  schiile, 
An'  picked  the  fiddle  up  an'  played 

Like  Neil  himsel'. 

Your  e'e  was  gleg,  your  fingers  dink; 
Ye  didnae  fash  yoursel'  to  think, 
But  wove,  as  fast  as  puss  can  link, 

Your  denty  wab:— 
Ye  stapped  your  pen  into  the  ink, 

An'  there  was  Rab! 

Sinsyne,  whaure'er  your  fortune  lay 
By  dowie  den,  by  canty  brae, 
Simmer  an'  winter,  nicht  an'  day, 
Rab  was  aye  wi'  ye; 
200 


TO  DR.  JOHN  BROWN 

An'  a'  the  folk  on  a'  the  way 
Were  blithe  to  see  ye. 

0  sir,  the  gods  are  kind  indeed, 
An'  hauld  ye  for  an  honoured  heid, 
That  for  a  wee  bit  clarkit  screed 

Sae  weel  reward  ye, 
An'  lend— puir  Rabbie  bein'  deid— 

His  ghaist  to  guard  ye. 

For  though,  whaure'er  yoursel'  may  be, 
We've  just  to  turn  an'  glisk  a  wee, 
An'  Rab  at  heel  we're  shiire  to  see 

Wi'  gladsome  caper: 
The  bogle  of  a  bogle,  he— 

A  ghaist  o'  paper! 

And  as  the  auld-farrand  hero  sees 

In  Hell  a  bogle  Hercules, 

Pit  there  the  lesser  deid  to  please, 

While  he  himsel' 
Dwalls  wi'  the  muckle  gods  at  ease 

Far  raised  frae  Hell: 

Sae  the  true  Rabbie  far  has  gane 

On  kindlier  business  o'  his  ain 

Wi'  aulder  frien's;  an'  his  breist-bane 

An'  stumpie  tailie, 
He  birstles  at  a  new  hearthstane 

By  James  and  Ailie. 
201 


XVI 

IT'S  an  owercome  sooth  for  age  an'  youth 
And  it  brooks  wi'  nae  denial, 
That  the  dearest  friends  are  the  auldest  friends 
And  the  young  are  just  on  trial. 

There's  a  rival  bauld  wi'  young  an'  auld 

And  it's  him  that  has  bereft  me; 
For  the  surest  friends  are  the  auldest  friends 

And  the  maist  o'  mines  hae  left  me. 

There  are  kind  hearts  still,  for  friends  to  fill 
And  fools  to  take  and  break  them; 

But  the  nearest  friends  are  the  auldest  friends 
And  the  grave's  the  place  to  seek  them. 


202 


book  in 

SONGS  OF  TRAVEL  AND  OTHER  VERSES 


THE  VAGABOND 

(To  an  air  of  Schubert) 

GIVE  to  me  the  life  I  love, 
Let  the  lave  go  by  me, 
Give  the  jolly  heaven  above 
And  the  byway  nigh  me. 
Bed  in  the  bush  with  stars  to  see, 

Bread  I  dip  in  the  river— 
There's  the  life  for  a  man  like  me, 
There's  the  life  for  ever. 

Let  the  blow  fall  soon  or  late, 

Let  what  will  be  o'er  me; 
Give  the  face  of  earth  around 

And  the  road  before  me. 
Wealth  I  seek  not,  hope  nor  love, 

Nor  a  friend  to  know  me; 
All  I  seek  the  heaven  above 

And  the  road  below  me. 

Or  let  autumn  fall  on  me 

Where  afield  I  linger, 
Silencing  the  bird  on  tree, 

Biting  the  blue  finger: 

205 


UNDERWOODS 

White  as  meal  the  frosty  field— 
Warm  the  fireside  haven— 

Not  to  autumn  will  I  yield, 
Not  to  winter  even! 


Let  the  blow  fall  soon  or  late, 

Let  what  will  be  o'er  me; 
Give  the  face  of  earth  around 

And  the  road  before  me. 
Wealth  I  ask  not,  hope  nor  love, 

Nor  a  friend  to  know  me. 
All  I  ask  the  heaven  above 

And  the  road  below  me. 


306 


n 

YOUTH   AND   LOVE— I 

ONCE  only  by  the  garden  gate 
Our  lips  we  joined  and  parted. 
I  must  fulfil  an  empty  fate 
And  travel  the  uncharted. 

Hail  and  farewell!    I  must  arise, 
Leave  here  the  fatted  cattle, 

And  paint  on  foreign  lands  and  skies 
My  Odyssey  of  battle. 

The  untented  Kosmos  my  abode, 

I  pass,  a  wilful  stranger: 
My  mistress  still  the  open  road 

And  the  bright  eyes  of  danger. 

Come  ill  or  well,  the  cross,  the  crown, 
The  rainbow  or  the  thunder, 

I  fling  my  soul  and  body  down 
For  God  to  plough  them  under. 


207 


Ill 


YOUTH    AND   LOVE— II 


TO  the  heart  of  youth  the  world  is  a  highwayside 
Passing  for  ever,  he  fares;  and  on  either  hand, 
Deep  in  the  gardens  golden  pavilions  hide, 

Nestle  in  orchard  bloom,  and  far  on  the  level  land 
Call  him  with  lighted  lamp  in  the  eventide. 

Thick  as  the  stars  at  night  when  the  moon  is  down, 
Pleasures  assail  him.     He  to  his  nobler  fate 

Fares;  and  but  waves  a  hand  as  he  passes  on, 

Cries  but  a  wayside  word  to  her  at  the  garden  gater 

Sings  but  a  boyish  stave  and  his  face  is  gone. 


208 


IV 

THE   UNFORGOTTEN— I 

N  dreams,  unhappy,  I  behold  you  stand 
As  heretofore: 
The  unremembered  tokens  in  your  hand 
Avail  no  more. 


I 


No  more  the  morning  glow,  no  more  the  grace, 

Enshrines,  endears. 
Cold  beats  the  light  of  time  upon  your  face 

And  shows  your  tears. 

He  came,  he  went.     Perchance  you  wept  awhile 

And  then  forgot. 
Ah  me!  but  he  that  left  you  with  a  smile 

Forgets  you  not. 


209 


THE    UN  FORGOTTEN— II 

SHE  rested  by  the  Broken  Brook, 
She  drank  of  Weary  Well, 
She  moved  beyond  my  lingering  look, 
Ah,  whither  none  can  tell! 

She  came,  she  went.    In  other  lands, 

Perchance  in  fairer  skies, 
Her  hands  shall  cling  with  other  hands, 

Her  eyes  to  other  eyes. 

She  vanished.    In  the  sounding  town, 

Will  she  remember  too  ? 
Will  she  recall  the  eyes  of  brown 

As  I  recall  the  blue  ? 


210 


VI 

THE  infinite  shining  heavens 
Rose  and  I  saw  in  the  night 
Uncountable  angel  stars 
Showering  sorrow  and  light. 

I  saw  them  distant  as  heaven, 
Dumb  and  shining  and  dead, 

And  the  idle  stars  of  the  night 
Were  dearer  to  me  than  bread. 

Night  after  night  in  my  sorrow 
The  stars  stood  over  the  sea, 

Till  lo!  I  looked  in  the  dusk 
And  a  star  had  come  down  to  me. 


an 


vn 

MADRIGAL 

PLAIN  as  the  glistering  planets  shine 
When  winds  have  cleaned  the  skies, 
Her  love  appeared,  appealed  for  mine 
And  wantoned  in  her  eyes. 

Clear  as  the  shining  tapers  burned 

On  Cytherea's  shrine, 
Those  brimming,  lustrous  beauties  turned, 

And  called  and  conquered  mine. 

The  beacon-lamp  that  Hero  lit 

No  fairer  shone  on  sea, 
No  plainlier  summoned  will  and  wit, 

Than  hers  encouraged  me. 

I  thrilled  to  feel  her  influence  near, 

I  struck  my  flag  at  sight. 
Her  starry  silence  smote  my  ear 

Like  sudden  drums  at  night. 

I  ran  as,  at  the  cannon's  roar, 
The  troops  the  ramparts  man — 

As  in  the  holy  house  of  yore 
The  willing  Eli  ran. 

212 


MADRIGAL 

Here,  lady,  lo!  that  servant  stands 
You  picked  from  passing  men, 

And  should  you  need  nor  heart  nor  hands 
He  bows  and  goes  again. 


213 


VIII 

TO  you,  let  snow  and  roses 
And  golden  locks  belong. 
These  are  the  world's  enslavers, 
Let  these  delight  the  throng. 
For  her  of  duskier  lustre 

Whose  favour  still  I  wear, 
The  snow  be  in  her  kirtle, 
The  rose  be  in  her  hair! 

The  hue  of  highland  rivers 

Careering,  full  and  cool, 
From  sable  on  to  golden, 

From  rapid  on  to  pool— 
The  hue  of  heather-honey, 

The  hue  of  honey-bees, 
Shall  tinge  her  golden  shoulder, 

Shall  gild  her  tawny  knees. 


214 


IX 

LET  BEAUTY   AWAKE 

IET  Beauty  awake  in  the  morn  from  beautiful  dreams, 
J  Beauty  awake  from  rest! 

Let  Beauty  awake 
For  Beauty's  sake 
In  the  hour  when  the  birds  awake  in  the  brake 
And  the  stars  are  bright  in  the  west! 

Let  Beauty  awake  in  the  eve  from  the  slumber  of  day, 

Awake  in  the  crimson  eve! 

In  the  day's  dusk  end 

When  the  shades  ascend, 
Let  her  wake  to  the  kiss  of  a  tender  friend 

To  render  again  and  receive! 


215 


X 


I  KNOW  not  how  it  is  with  you— 
/  love  the  first  and  last, 
The  whole  field  of  the  present  view, 
The  whole  flow  of  the  past. 

One  tittle  of  the  things  that  are, 
Nor  you  should  change  nor  I— 

One  pebble  in  our  path— one  star 
In  all  our  heaven  of  sky. 

Our  lives,  and  every  day  and  hour, 

One  symphony  appear: 
One  road,  one  garden— every  flower 

And  every  bramble  dear. 


216 


XI 

I  WILL  make  you  brooches  and  toys  for  your  delight 
Of  bird-song  at  morning  and  star-shine  at  night. 
I  will  make  a  palace  fit  for  you  and  me 
Of  green  days  in  forests  and  blue  days  at  sea. 

I  will  make  my  kitchen,  and  you  shall  keep  your  room, 
Where  white  flows  the  river  and  bright  blows  the  broom, 
And  you  shall  wash  your  linen  and  keep  your  body  white 
In  rainfall  at  morning  and  dewfall  at  night. 

And  this  shall  be  for  music  when  no  one  else  is  near, 
The  fine  song  for  singing,  the  rare  song  to  hear! 
That  only  I  remember,  that  only  you  admire, 
Of  the  broad  road  that  stretches  and  the  roadside  fire. 


217 


XII 

WE   HAVE   LOVED   OF   YORE 

(To  an  air  of  Diahelli) 

BERRIED  brake  and  reedy  island, 
Heaven  below,  and  only  heaven  above, 
Through  the  sky's  inverted  azure 
Softly  swam  the  boat  that  bore  our  love. 
Bright  were  your  eyes  as  the  day; 
Bright  ran  the  stream, 
Bright  hung  the  sky  above. 
Days  of  April,  airs  of  Eden, 

How  the  glory  died  through  golden  hours, 
And  the  shining  moon  arising 

How  the  boat  drew  homeward  filled  with  flowers' 
Bright  were  your  eyes  in  the  night: 
We  have  lived,  my  love— 
0,  we  have  loved,  my  love. 

Frost  has  bound  our  flowing  river, 

Snow  has  whitened  all  our  island  brake, 
And  beside  the  winter  fagot 
Joan  and  Darby  doze  and  dream  and  wake. 
Still,  in  the  river  of  dreams 
Swims  the  boat  of  love— 
Hark!  chimes  the  falling  oar! 
218 


WE  HAVE  LOVED  OF  YORE 

And  again  in  winter  evens 

When  on  firelight  dreaming  fancy  feeds, 
In  those  ears  of  aged  lovers 
Love's  own  river  warbles  in  the  reeds. 
Love  still  the  past,  0,  my  love! 
We  have  lived  of  yore, 
0,  we  have  loved  of  yore. 


219 


XIII 

DITTY 

(To  an  air  from  Bach) 

THE  cock  shall  crow 
In  the  morning  grey, 
The  bugles  blow 

At  the  break  of  day: 
The  cock  shall  sing  and  the  merry  bugles  ring, 
And  all  the  little  brown  birds  sing  upon  the  spray. 

The  thorn  shall  blow 

In  the  month  of  May, 
And  my  love  shall  go 

In  her  holiday  array: 
But  I  shall  lie  in  the  kirkyard  nigh 
While  all  the  little  brown  birds  sing  upon  the  spray. 


220 


xrv 


MATER   TRIUMPHANS 


SON  of  my  woman's  body,  you  go,  to  the  drum  and  fife, 
To  taste  the  colour  of  love  and  the  other  side  of  life — 
From  out  of  the  dainty  the  rude,  the  strong  from  out  of  the 

frail, 
Eternally  through  the  ages  from  the  female  comes  the  male. 

The  ten  fingers  and  toes,  and  the  shell-like  nail  on  each, 
The  eyes  blind  as  gems  and  the  tongue  attempting  speech; 
Impotent  hands  in  my  bosom,  and  yet  they  shall  wield  the 

sword ! 
Drugged  with  slumber  and  milk,  you  wait  the  day  of  the 

Lord. 

Infant  bridegroom,  uncrowned  king,  unanointed  priest, 
Soldier,  lover,  explorer,  I  see  you  nozzle  the  breast. 
You  that  grope  in  my  bosom  shall  load  the  ladies  with  rings, 
You,  that  came  forth  through  the  doors,  shall  burst  the  doors 
of  Kings. 


221 


XV 

BRIGHT  is  the  ring  of  words 
1  When  the  right  man  rings  them, 
Fair  the  fall  of  songs 

When  the  singer  sings  them. 
Still  they  are  carolled  and  said— 

On  wings  they  are  carried— 
After  the  singer  is  dead 
And  the  maker  buried. 

Low  as  the  singer  lies 

In  the  field  of  heather, 
Songs  of  his  fashion  bring 

The  swains  together. 
And  when  the  west  is  red 

With  the  sunset  embers, 
The  lover  lingers  and  sings 

And  the  maid  remembers. 


222 


XVI 

IN  the  highlands,  in  the  country  places, 
Where  the  old  plain  men  have  rosy  faces, 
And  the  young  fair  maidens 
Quiet  eyes; 

Where  essential  silence  cheers  and  blesses, 
And  for  ever  in  the  hill-recesses 
Her  more  lovely  music 
Broods  and  dies. 

0  to  mount  again  where  erst  I  haunted ; 

Where  the  old  red  hills  are  bird-enchanted, 

And  the  low  green  meadows 

Bright  with  sward; 

And  when  even  dies,  the  million-tinted, 

And  the  night  has  come,  and  planets  glinted, 

Lo!  the  valley  hollow, 

Lamp-bestarred. 

0  to  dream,  0  to  awake  and  wander 

There,  and  with  delight  to  take  and  render, 

Through  the  trance  of  silence, 

Quiet  breath; 

Lo!  for  there,  among  the  fbwers  and  grasses, 

Only  the  mightier  movement  sounds  and  passes; 

Only  winds  and  rivers, 

Life  and  death. 

223 


xvn 

WANDERING   WILLIE 

HOME  no  more  home  to  me,  whither  must  I  wander  ? 
Hunger  my  driver,  I  go  where  I  must, 
fold  blows  the  winter  wind  over  hill  and  heather; 

Thick  drives  the  rain,  and  my  roof  is  in  the  dust. 
Loved  of  wise  men  was  the  shade  of  my  roof -tree. 

The  true  word  of  welcome  was  spoken  in  the  door — 
Dear  days  of  old,  with  the  faces  in  the  firelight, 
Kind  folks  of  old,  you  come  again  no  more. 

Home  was  home  then,  my  dear,  full  of  kindly  faces, 

Home  was  home  then,  my  dear,  happy  for  the  child. 
Fire  and  the  windows  bright  glittered  on  the  moorland; 

Song,  tuneful  song,  built  a  palace  in  the  wild. 
Now,  when  day  dawns  on  the  brow  of  the  moorland, 

Lone  stands  the  house,  and  the  chimney-stone  is  cold. 
Lone  let  it  stand,  now  the  friends  are  all  departed, 

The  kind  hearts,  the  true  hearts,  that  loved  the  place  of 
old. 

Spring  shall  come,  come  again,  calling  up  the  moor-fowl, 
Spring  shall  bring  the  sun  and  rain,  bring  the  bees  and 
flowers; 

224 


WANDERING   WILLIE 

Red  shall  the  heather  bloom  over  hill  and  valley, 
Soft  flow  the  stream  through  the  even-flowing  hours; 

Fair  the  day  shine  as  it  shone  on  my  childhood— 
Fair  shine  the  day  on  the  house  with  open  door; 

Birds  come  and  cry  there  and  twitter  in  the  chimney — 
But  I  go  for  ever  and  come  again  no  more. 


225 


XVIII 

TO   DOCTOR   HAKE 

(On  receiving  a  copy  of  verses) 

IN  the  beloved  hour  that  ushers  day, 
In  the  pure  dew,  under  the  breaking  grey, 
One  bird,  ere  yet  the  woodland  quires  awake, 
With  brief  reveille  summons  all  the  brake: 
Chirp,  chirp,  it  goes;  nor  waits  an  answer  long; 
And  that  small  signal  fills  the  grove  with  song. 

Thus  on  my  pipe  I  breathed  a  strain  or  two; 
It  scarce  was  music,  but  'twas  all  I  knew. 
It  was  not  music,  for  I  lacked  the  art, 
Yet  what  but  frozen  music  filled  my  heart? 
Chirp,  chirp,  I  went,  nor  hoped  a  nobler  strain; 
But  Heaven  decreed  I  should  not  pipe  in  vain, 
For,  lo!  not  far  from  there,  in  secret  dale, 
All  silent,  sat  an  ancient  nightingale. 
My  sparrow  notes  he  heard;  thereat  awoke; 
And  with  a  tide  of  song  his  silence  broke. 


326 


XIX 

TO 

I  KNEW  thee  strong  and  quiet  like  the  hills; 
I  knew  thee  apt  to  pity,  brave  to  endure: 
In  peace  or  war  a  Roman  full  equipt. 
And  just  I  knew  thee,  like  the  fabled  kings 
Who  by  the  loud  sea-shore  gave  judgment  forth, 
From  dawn  to  eve,  bearded  and  few  of  words. 
What,  what,  was  I  to  honour  thee  ?    A  child, 
A  youth  in  ardour  but  a  child  in  strength, 
Who  after  virtue's  golden  chariot-wheels 
Runs  ever  panting,  nor  attains  the  goal. 
So  thought  I,  and  was  sorrowful  at  heart. 

Since  then  my  steps  have  visited  that  flood 
Along  whose  shore  the  numerous  footfalls  cease, 
The  voices  and  the  tears  of  life  expire. 
Thither  the  prints  go  down,  the  hero's  way 
Trod  large  upon  the  sand,  the  trembling  maid's: 
Nimrod  that  wound  his  trumpet  in  the  wood, 
And  the  poor,  dreaming  child,  hunter  of  flowers, 
That  here  his  hunting  closes  with  the  great: 
So  one  and  all  go  down,  nor  aught  returns. 

227 


UNDERWOODS 

For  thee,  for  us,  the  sacred  river  waits; 

For  me,  the  unworthy,  thee,  the  perfect  friend. 

There  Blame  desists,  there  his  unfaltering  dogs 

He  from  the  chase  recalls,  and  homeward  rides; 

Yet  Praise  and  Love  pass  over  and  go  in. 

So  when,  beside  that  margin,  I  discard 

My  more  than  mortal  weakness,  and  with  thee 

Through  that  still  land  unf earing  I  advance: 

If  then  at  all  we  keep  the  touch  of  joy 

Thou  shalt  rejoice  to  find  me  altered— I, 

0  Felix,  to  behold  thee  still  unchanged. 


328 


XX 

THE  morning  drum-call  on  my  eager  ear 
Thrills  unforgotten  yet;  the  morning  dew 
Lies  yet  undried  along  my  field  of  noon. 
But  now  I  pause  at  whiles  in  what  I  do, 
And  count  the  bell,  and  tremble  lest  I  hear 
(My  work  untrimmed)  the  sunset  gun  too  soon. 


229 


XXI 


HAVE  trod  the  upward  and  the  downward  slope; 

I  have  endured  and  done  in  days  before; 

I  have  longed  for  all,  and  bid  farewell  to  hope; 

And  I  have  lived  and  loved,  and  closed  the  door. 


I 


230 


xxn 

HE  hears  with  gladdened  heart  the  thunder 
Peal,  and  loves  the  falling  dew; 
He  knows  the  earth  above  and  under— 
Sits  and  is  content  to  view. 

He  sits  beside  the  dying  ember, 
God  for  hope  and  man  for  friend, 

Content  to  see,  glad  to  remember, 
Expectant  of  the  certain  end. 


231 


XXIII 

THE   LOST   OCCASION 

FAREWELL,  fair  day  and  fading  light! 
The  clay-born  here,  with  westward  sight, 
Marks  the  huge  sun  now  downward  soar. 
Farewell.     We  twain  shall  meet  no  more. 

Farewell.     I  watch  with  bursting  sigh 
My  late  contemned  occasion  die. 
I  linger  useless  in  my  tent: 
Farewell,  fair  day,  so  foully  spent! 

Farewell,  fair  day.     If  any  God 
At  all  consider  this  poor  clod, 
He  who  the  fair  occasion  sent 
Prepared  and  placed  the  impediment. 

Let  him  diviner  vengeance  take- 
Give  me  to  sleep,  give  me  to  wake 
Girded  and  shod,  and  bid  me  play 
The  hero  in  the  coming  day! 


232 


xxrv 

IP  THIS   WERE   FAITH 

GOD,  if  this  were  enough, 
That  I  see  things  bare  to  the  buff 
And  up  to  the  buttocks  in  mire; 
That  I  ask  nor  hope  nor  hire, 
Not  in  the  husk, 
Nor  dawn  beyond  the  dusk, 
Nor  life  beyond  death: 
God,  if  this  were  faith  ? 

Having  felt  Thy  wind  in  my  face 
Spit  sorrow  and  disgrace, 
Having  seen  Thine  evil  doom 
In  Golgotha  and  Khartoum, 
And  the  brutes,  the  work  of  Thine  hands, 
Fill  with  injustice  lands 
And  stain  with  blood  the  sea: 
If  still  in  my  veins  the  glee 
Of  the  black  night  and  the  sun 
And  the  lost  battle,  run: 
If,  an  adept, 

The  iniquitous  lists  I  still  accept 
With  joy,  and  joy  to  endure  and  be  withstood, 
And  still  to  battle  and  perish  for  a  dream  of  good: 
God,  if  that  were  enough  ? 
233 


UNDERWOODS 

If  to  feel,  in  the  ink  of  the  slough, 

And  the  sink  of  the  mire, 

Veins  of  glory  and  fire 

Run  through  and  transpierce  and  transpire, 

And  a  secret  purpose  of  glory  in  every  part, 

And  the  answering  glory  of  battle  fill  my  heart; 

To  thrill  with  the  joy  of  girded  men 

To  go  on  for  ever  and  fail  and  go  on  again, 

And  be  mauled  to  the  earth  and  arise, 

And  contend  for  the  shade  of  a  word  and  a  thing 

not  seen  with  the  eyes: 
With  the  half  of  a  broken  hope  for  a  pillow  at 

night 
That  somehow  the  right  is  the  right 
And  the  smooth  shall  bloom  from  the  rough: 
Lord,  if  that  were  enough  ? 


234 


XXV 

MY   WIFE 

TRUSTY,  dusky,  vivid,  true, 
With  eyes  of  gold  and  bramble-dew, 
Steel-tme  and  blade-straight, 
The  great  artificer 
Made  my  mate. 

Honour,  anger,  valour,  fire; 

A  love  that  life  could  never  tire, 

Death  quench  or  evil  stir, 
The  mighty  master 

Gave  to  her. 

Teacher,  tender,  comrade,  wife, 
A  fellow-farer  true  through  life, 

Heart-whole  and  soul-free 
The  august  father 

Gave  to  me. 


235 


XXVI 

WINTER 

IN  rigorous  hours,  when  down  the  iron  lane 
The  redbreast  looks  in  vain 
For  hips  and  haws, 
Lo,  shining  flowers  upon  my  window-pane 
The  silver  pencil  of  the  winter  draws. 

When  all  the  snowy  hill 

And  the  bare  woods  are  still; 

When  snipes  are  silent  in  the  frozen  bogs, 

And  all  the  garden  garth  is  whelmed  in  mire, 
Lo,  by  the  hearth,  the  laughter  of  the  logs— 

More  fair  than  roses,  lo,  the  flowers  of  fire ! 

Saranac  Lake. 


236 


XXVII 

THE  stormy  evening  closes  now  in  vain, 
Loud  wails  the  wind  and  beats  the  driving  rain, 
While  here  in  sheltered  house 

With  fire-ypainted  walls, 
I  hear  the  wind  abroad, 
I  hark  the  calling  squalls— 
«Blow,  blow,»  I  cry,  «you  burst  your  cheeks  in  vain! 
Blow,  blow,»  I  cry,  «my  love  is  home  again! » 

i 
Yon  ship  you  chase  perchance  but  yesternight 

Bore  still  the  precious  freight  of  my  delight, 

That  here  in  sheltered  house 

With  fire-ypainted  walls, 

Now  hears  the  wind  abroad, 

Now  harks  the  calling  squalls. 

i  Blow,  blow,»  I  cry,  « in  vain  you  rouse  the  sea, 

My  rescued  sailor  shares  the  fire  with  me ! » 


237 


XXVIII 
TO   AN    ISLAND   PRINCESS 

SINCE  long  ago,  a  child  at  home, 
I  read  and  longed  to  rise  and  roam, 
Where'er  I  went,  whate'er  I  willed, 
One  promised  land  my  fancy  filled. 
Hence  the  long  roads  my  home  I  made; 
Tossed  much  in  ships  :  have  often  laid 
Below  the  uncurtained  sky  my  head, 
Rain-deluged  and  wind-buffeted: 
And  many  a  thousand  hills  I  crossed 
And  corners  turned  —Love's  labour  lost, 
Till,  Lady,  to  your  isle  of  sun 
I  came,  not  hoping;  and,  like  one 
Snatched  out  of  blindness,  rubbed  my  eyes, 
And  hailed  my  promised  land  with  cries. 

Yes,  Lady,  here  I  was  at  last; 
Here  found  I  all  I  had  forecast: 
The  long  roll  of  the  sapphire  sea 
That  keeps  the  land's  virginity; 
The  stalwart  giants  of  the  wood 
Laden  with  toys  and  flowers  and  food; 
The  precious  forest  pouring  out 
To  compass  the  whole  town  about; 

238 


TO  AN  ISLAND  PRINCESS 

The  town  itself  with  streets  of  lawn, 
Loved  of  the  moon,  blessed  by  the  dawn, 
Where  the  brown  children  all  the  day 
Keep  up  a  ceaseless  noise  of  play, 
Play  in  the  sun,  play  in  the  rain, 
Nor  ever  quarrel  or  complain;— 
And  late  at  night,  in  the  woods  of  fruit, 
Hark!  do  you  hear  the  passing  flute  ? 

I  threw  one  look  to  either  hand, 
And  knew  I  was  in  Fairyland. 
And  yet  one  point  of  being  so, 
I  lacked.     For,  Lady  (as  you  know), 
Whoever  by  his  might  of  hand 
Won  entrance  into  Fairyland, 
Found  always  with  admiring  eyes 
A  Fairy  princess  kind  and  wise. 

It  was  not  long  I  waited;  soon 
Upon  my  threshold,  in  broad  noon, 
Fair  and  helpful,  wise  and  good, 
The  Fairy  Princess  Moe  stood. 
Tantira  Tahiti,  Nov.  5,  1888. 


239 


XXIX 

TO  KALAKAUA 

(With  the  gift  of  a  pearl) 

THE  Silver  Ship,  my  King— that  was  her  name 
In  the  bright  islands  whence  your  fathers  came- 
The  Silver  Ship,  at  rest  from  winds  and  tides, 
Below  your  palace  in  your  harbour  rides: 
And  the  seafarers,  sitting  safe  on  shore, 
Like  eager  merchants  count  their  treasures  o'er. 
One  gift  they  find,  one  strange  and  lovely  thing, 
Now  doubly  precious  since  it  pleased  a  king. 

The  right,  my  liege,  is  ancient  as  the  lyre 
For  bards  to  give  to  kings  what  kings  admire. 
Tis  mine  to  offer  for  Apollo's  sake; 
And  since  the  gift  is  fitting,  yours  to  take. 
To  golden  hands  the  golden  pearl  I  bring: 
The  ocean  jewel  to  the  island  king. 

Honolulu,  Feb.  3,  1889. 


240 


XXX 

TO   PRINCESS   KAIULANI 

FORTH  from  her  land  to  mine  she  goes, 
The  island  maid,  the  island  rose, 
Light  of  heart  and  bright  of  face: 
The  daughter  of  a  double  race. 
Her  islands  here,  in  Southern  sun, 
Shall  mourn  their  Kaiulani  gone, 
And  I,  in  her  dear  banyan  shade, 
Look  vainly  for  my  little  maid. 

But  our  Scots  islands  far  away 
Shall  glitter  with  unwonted  day, 
And  cast  for  once  their  tempests  by 
To  smile  in  Kaiulani's  eye. 

Honolulu. 

Written  in  April  to  Kaiulani  in  the  April  of  her  age  ;  and  at  Wai- 
kiki,  within  easy  walk  of  Kaiulani's  banyan  !  When  she  comes  to  my 
land  and  her  father's,  and  the  rain  beats  upon  the  window  (as  I  fear 
it  will),  let  her  look  at  this  page  ;  it  will  be  like  a  weed  gathered  and 
pressed  at  home  ;  and  she  will  remember  her  own  islands,  and  the 
shadow  of  the  mighty  tree  ;  and  she  will  hear  the  peacocks  scream- 
ing in  the  dusk  and  the  wind  blowing  in  the  palms  ;  and  she  will 
think  of  her  father  sitting  there  alone. —  R.  L.  S. 


241 


XXXI 

TO   MOTHER    MARYANNE 

TO  see  the  infinite  pity  of  this  place, 
The  mangled  limb,  the  devastated  face, 
The  innocent  sufferer  smiling  at  the  rod— 
A  fool  were  tempted  to  deny  his  God. 
He  sees,  he  shrinks.    But  if  he  gaze  again, 
Lo,  beauty  springing  from  the  breast  of  pain ! 
He  marks  the  sisters  on  the  mournful  shores; 
And  even  a  fool  is  silent  and  adores. 

Guest  House,  Kalawayo,  Molokai. 


242 


XXXII 

IN   MEMORIAM  E.   H. 

I  KNEW  a  silver  head  was  bright  beyond  compare, 
I  knew  a  queen  of  toil  with  a  crown  of  silver  hair. 
Garland  of  valour  and  sorrow,  of  beauty  and  renown, 
Life,  that  honours  the  brave,  crowned  her  himself  with  the 
crown. 

The  beauties  of  youth  are  frail,  but  this  was  a  jewel  of  age. 
Life,  that  delights  in  the  brave,  gave  it  himself  for  a  gage. 
Fair  was  the  crown  to  behold,  and  beauty  its  poorest  part— 
At  once  the  scar  of  the  wound  and  the  order  pinned  on  the 
heart. 

The  beauties  of  man  are  frail,  and  the  silver  lies  in  the  dust, 
And  the  queen  that  we  call  to  mind  sleeps  with  the  brave 

and  the  just; 
Sleeps  with  the  weary  at  length ;  but  honoured  and  ever  fair. 
Shines  in  the  eye  of  the  mind  the  crown  of  the  silver  hair. 

Honolulu. 


243 


XXXIII 

TO   MY   WIFE 

(^4  Fragment) 

10NG  must  elapse  ere  you  behold  again 
J  Green  forest  frame  the  entry  of  the  lane — 
The  wild  lane  with  the  bramble  and  the  brier, 
The  year-old  cart-tracks  perfect  in  the  mire, 
The  wayside  smoke,  perchance,  the  dwarfish  huts, 
And  ramblers'  donkey  drinking  from  the  ruts:— 
Long  ere  you  trace  how  deviously  it  leads, 
Back  from  man's  chimneys  and  the  bleating  meads 
To  the  woodland  shadow,  to  the  sylvan  hush, 
When  but  the  brooklet  chuckles  in  the  brush— 
Back  from  the  sun  and  bustle  of  the  vale 
To  where  the  great  voice  of  the  nightingale 
Fills  all  the  forest  like  a  single  room, 
And  all  the  banks  smell  of  the  golden  broom; 
So  wander  on  until  the  eve  descends, 
And  back  returning  to  your  firelit  friends, 
You  see  the  rosy  sun,  despoiled  of  light, 
Hung,  caught  in  thickets,  like  a  schoolboy's  kite. 

Here  from  the  sea  the  unfruitful  sun  shall  rise, 
Bathe  the  bare  deck  and  blind  the  unshielded  eyes; 

241 


TO   MY   WIFE 

The  allotted  hours  aloft  shall  wheel  in  vain 
And  in  the  unpregnant  ocean  plunge  again. 
Assault  of  squalls  that  mock  the  watchful  guard, 
And  pluck  the  husting  canvas  from  the  yard, 
And  senseless  clamour  of  the  calm,  at  night 
Must  mar  your  slumbers.     By  the  plunging  light, 
In  beetle-haunted,  most  unwomanly  bower 
Of  the  wild-swerving  cabin,  hour  by  hour  .  .  „ 

Schooner  Equator. 


245 


XXXIV 

TO   THE   MUSE 

RESIGN  the  rhapsody,  the  dream, 
i  To  men  of  larger  reach ; 
Be  ours  the  quest  of  a  plain  theme, 
The  piety  of  speech. 

As  monkish  scribes  from  morning  break 
Toiled  till  the  close  of  light, 

Nor  thought  a  day  too  long  to  make 
One  line  or  letter  bright: 

We  also  with  an  ardent  mind, 
Time,  wealth  and  fame  forgot, 

Our  glory  in  our  patience  find 
And  skim,  and  skim  the  pot: 

Till  last,  when  round  the  house  we  hear 

The  evensong  of  birds, 
One  corner  of  blue  heaven  appear 

In  our  clear  well  of  words. 

Leave,  leave  it  then,  muse  of  my  heart! 

Sans  finish  and  sans  frame, 
Leave  unadorned  by  needless  art 
The  picture  as  it  came. 
Apemama. 

246 


XXXV 

TO   MY   OLD   FAMILIARS 

DO  you  remember— can  we  e'er  forget?— 
How,  in  the  coiled  perplexities  of  youth, 
In  our  wild  climate,  in  our  scowling  town, 
We  gloomed  and  shivered,  sorrowed,  sobbed  and  feared  ? 
The  belching  winter  wind,  the  missile  rain, 
The  rare  and  welcome  silence  of  the  snows, 
The  laggard  morn,  the  haggard  day,  the  night, 
The  grimy  spell  of  the  nocturnal  town, 
Do  you  remember?— Ah,  could  one  forget! 

As  when  the  fevered  sick  that  all  night  long 
Listed  the  wind  intone,  and  hear  at  last 
The  ever-welcome  voice  of  chanticleer 
Sing  in  the  bitter  hour  before  the  dawn, — 
With  sudden  ardour,  these  desire  the  day: 
So  sang  in  the  gloom  of  youth  the  bird  of  hope; 
So  we,  exulting,  hearkened  and  desired. 
For  lo!  as  in  the  palace  porch  of  life 
We  huddled  with  chimeras,  from  within — 
How  sweet  to  hear!— the  music  swelled  and  fell, 
And  through  the  breach  of  the  revolving  doors 
What  dreams  of  splendour  blinded  us  and  fled! 

247 


UNDERWOODS 

I  have  since  then  contended  and  rejoiced; 

Amid  the  glories  of  the  house  of  life 

Profoundly  entered,  and  the  shrine  beheld: 

Yet  when  the  lamp  from  my  expiring  eyes 

Shall  dwindle  and  recede,  the  voice  of  love 

Fall  insignificant  on  my  closing  ears, 

What  sound  shall  come  but  the  old  cry  of  the  wind 

In  our  inclement  city  ?  what  return 

But  the  image  of  the  emptiness  of  youth, 

Filled  with  the  sound  of  footsteps  and  that  voice 

Of  discontent  and  rapture  and  despair  ? 

So,  as  in  darkness,  from  the  magic  lamp, 

The  momentary  pictures  gleam  and  fade 

And  perish,  and  the  night  resurges— these 

Shall  I  remember,  and  then  all  forget. 

Apemama. 


248 


XXXVI 

THE  tropics  vanish,  and  meseems  that  I, 
From  Halkerside,  from  topmost  Allermuir, 
Or  steep  Caerketton,  dreaming  gaze  again. 
Far  set  in  fields  and  woods,  the  town  I  see 
Spring  gallant  from  the  shallows  of  her  smoke, 
Cragged,  spired,  and  turreted,  her  virgin  fort 
Beflagged.     About,  on  seaward-drooping  hills, 
New  folds  of  city  glitter.     Last,  the  Forth 
Wheels  ample  waters  set  with  sacred  isles, 
And  populous  Fife  smokes  with  a  score  of  towns. 

There,  on  the  sunny  frontage  of  a  hill, 
Hard  by  the  house  of  kings,  repose  the  dead, 
My  dead,  the  ready  and  the  strong  of  word. 
Their  works,  the  salt-encrusted,  still  survive; 
The  sea  bombards  their  founded  towers;  the  night 
Thrills  pierced  with  their  strong  lamps.   The  artificers, 
One  after  one,  here  in  this  grated  cell, 
Where  the  rain  erases  and  the  rust  consumes, 
Fell  upon  lasting  silence.     Continents 
And  continental  oceans  intervene; 
A  sea  uncharted,  on  a  lampless  isle, 
Environs  and  confines  their  wandering  child 
In  vain.     The  voice  of  generations  dead 
249 


UNDERWOODS 

Summons  me,  sitting  distant,  to  arise, 
My  numerous  footsteps  nimbly  to  retrace, 
And  all  mutation  over,  stretch  me  down 
In  that  denoted  city  of  the  dead. 
Apkmama. 


250 


XXXVII 
to  s.  c. 

I  HEARD  the  pulse  of  the  besieging  sea 
Throb  far  away  all  night.     I  heard  the  wind 
Fly  crying  and  convulse  tumultuous  palms. 
I  rose  and  strolled.     The  isle  was  all  bright  sand, 
And  flailing  fans  and  shadows  of  the  palm; 
The  heaven  all  moon  and  wind  and  the  blind  vault; 
The  keenest  planet  slain,  for  Venus  slept. 

The  king,  my  neighbour,  with  his  host  of  wives, 
Slept  in  the  precinct  of  the  palisade; 
Where  single,  in  the  wind,  under  the  moon, 
Among  the  slumbering  cabins,  blazed  a  fire, 
Sole  street-lamp  and  the  only  sentinel. 

To  other  lands  and  nights  my  fancy  turned— 
To  London  first,  and  chiefly  to  your  house, 
The  many-pillared  and  the  well-beloved. 
There  yearning  fancy  lighted ;  there  again 
In  the  upper  room  I  lay,  and  heard  far  off 
The  unsleeping  city  murmur  like  a  shell; 
The  muffled  tramp  of  the  Museum  guard 
Once  more  went  by  me;  I  beheld  again 
Lamps  vainly  brighten  the  dispeopled  street; 
Again  I  longed  for  the  returning  morn, 
251 


UNDERWOODS 

The  awaking  traffic,  the  bestirring  birds, 
The  consentaneous  trill  of  tiny  song 
That  weaves  round  monumental  cornices 
A  passing  charm  of  beauty.     Most  of  all, 
For  your  light  foot  I  wearied,  and  your  knock 
That  was  the  glad  reveille  of  my  day. 

Lo,  now,  when  to  your  task  in  the  great  house 
At  morning  through  the  portico  you  pass, 
One  moment  glance,  where  by  the  pillared  wall 
Far-voyaging  island  gods,  begrimed  with  smoke, 
Sit  now  unworshipped,  the  rude  monument 
Of  faiths  forgot  and  races  undivined: 
Sit  now  disconsolate,  remembering  well 
The  priest,  the  victim,  and  the  songful  crowd, 
The  blaze  of  the  blue  noon,  and  that  huge  voice 
Incessant,  of  the  breakers  on  the  shore. 
As  far  as  these  from  their  ancestral  shrine, 
So  far,  so  foreign,  your  divided  friends 
Wander,  estranged  in  body,  not  in  mind. 

Afexaha. 


252 


xxx  vm 

THE   HOUSE   OF  TEMBINOKA 

At  my  departure  from  the  island  of  Apemama,  for  which  you  will 
look  in  vain  in  most  atlases,  the  King  and  I  agreed,  since  we  both 
set  up  to  be  in  the  poetical  way,  that  we  should  celebrate  our  sepa- 
ration in  verse.  Whether  or  not  his  Majesty  has  been  true  to  his  bar- 
gain, the  laggard  posts  of  the  Pacific  may  perhaps  inform  me  in  six 
months,  perhaps  not  before  a  year.  The  following  lines  represent  my 
part  of  the  contract,  and  it  is  hoped,  by  their  pictures  of  strange  man- 
ners, they  may  entertain  a  civilised  audience.  Nothing  throughout 
has  been  invented  or  exaggerated  ;  the  lady  herein  referred  to  as  the 
author's  muse  has  confined  herself  to  stringing  into  rhyme  facts  or 
legends  that  I  saw  or  heard  during  two  months'  residence  upon  the 
island.—  R.  L.  S. 

ENVOI 

ZET  us,  who  part  like  brothers,  part  like  bards ; 
1  And  you  in  your  tongue  and  measure,  I  in  mine, 
Our  now  division  duly  solemnise. 
Unlike  the  strains,  and  yet  the  theme  is  one  : 
The  strains  unlike,  and  how  unlike  their  fate! 
You  to  the  blinding  palace  yard  shall  call 
The  prefect  of  the  singers,  and  to  him, 
Listening  devout,  your  valedictory  verse 
Deliver;  he,  his  attribute  fulfilled, 
To  the  island  chorus  hand  your  measures  on, 

253 


UNDERWOODS 

Wed  now  with  harmony :  so  them,  at  last, 
Night,  after  night,  in  the  open  hall  of  dance, 
Shall  thirty  matted  men,  to  the  clapped  hand, 
Intone  and  bray  and  bark.     Unfortunate! 
Paper  and  print  alone  shall  honour  mine. 

THE  SONG 

Let  now  the  King  his  ear  arouse 

And  toss  the  bosky  ringlets  from  his  brows, 

The  while,  our  bond  to  implement, 

My  muse  relates  and  praises  his  descent. 


Bride  of  the  shark,  her  valour  first  I  sing 
Who  on  the  lone  seas  quickened  of  a  King. 
She,  from  the  shore  and  puny  homes  of  men, 
Beyond  the  climber's  sea-discerning  ken, 
Swam,  led  by  omens;  and  devoid  of  fear, 
Beheld  her  monstrous  paramour  draw  near. 
She  gazed;  all  round  her  to  the  heavenly  pale, 
The  simple  sea  was  void  of  isle  or  sail- 
Sole  overhead  the  unsparing  sun  was  reared— 
When  the  deep  bubbled  and  the  brute  appeared. 
But  she,  secure  in  the  decrees  of  fate, 
Made  strong  her  bosom  and  received  the  mate. 
And  men  declare,  from  that  marine  embrace 
Conceived  the  virtues  of  a  stronger  race. 

254 


CHRISTMAS  AT  SEA 

They  lit  the  high  sea-light,  and  the  dark  began  to  fall. 

« All  hands  to  loose  topgallant  sails,*  I  heard  the  captain 
call. 

« By  the  Lord,  she'll  never  stand  it,»  our  first  mate,  Jackson, 
cried. 

.  .  .  « It's  the  one  way  or  the  other,  Mr.  Jackson,»  he  re- 
plied. 

She  staggered  to  her  bearings,  but  the  sails  were  new  and 
good, 

And  the  ship  smelt  up  to  windward  just  as  though  she  un- 
derstood. 

As  the  winter's  day  was  ending,  in  the  entry  of  the  night, 

We  cleared  the  weary  headland,  and  passed  below  the  light.  40 

And  they  heaved  a  mighty  breath,  every  soul  on  board  but 
me, 

As  they  saw  her  nose  again  pointing  handsome  out  to  sea; 

But  all  that  I  could  think  of,  in  the  darkness  and  the  cold, 

Was  just  that  I  was  leaving  home  and  my  folks  were  grow- 
ing old. 


867 


THE  WORKS  OF 

ROBERT    LOUIS    STEVENSON 


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CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

153-157  Fifth  Avenue,        -  New  York 


THE  HOUSE  OF  TEMBINOKA 


Her  stern  descendant  next  I  praise, 
Survivor  of  a  thousand  frays:— 
In  the  hall  of  tongues  who  ruled  the  throng; 
Led  and  was  trusted  by  the  strong; 
And  when  spears  were  in  the  wood, 
Like  a  tower  of  vantage  stood: — 
Whom,  not  till  seventy  years  had  sped, 
Unscarred  of  breast,  erect  of  head, 
Still  light  of  step,  still  bright  of  look, 
The  hunter,  Death,  had  overtook. 


ill 


His  sons,  the  brothers  twain,  I  sing, 
Of  whom  the  elder  reigned  a  King. 
No  Childeric  he,  yet  much  declined 
From  his  rude  sire's  imperious  min 
Until  his  day  came  v,hen  he  died, 
He  lived,  he  reigned,  he  versified. 
But  chiefly  him  I  celebrate 
That  was  the  pillar  of  the  state, 
Ruled,  wise  of  word  and  bold  of  mien, 
The  peaceful  and  the  warlike  scene; 
And  played  alike  the  leader's  part 
In  lawful  and  unlawful  art. 
His  soldiers  with  emboldened  ears 
Heard  him  laugh  among  the  spears. 

255 


UNDERWOODS 

He  could  deduce  from  age  to  age 
The  web  of  island  parentage; 
Best  lay  the  rhyme,  best  lead  the  dance, 
For  any  festal  circumstance: 
And  fitly  fashion  oar  and  boat, 
A  palace  or  an  armour  coat. 
None  more  availed  than  he  to  raise 
The  strong,  suffumigating  blaze 
Or  knot  the  wizard  leaf:  none  more, 
Upon  the  untrodden  windward  shore 
Of  the  isle,  beside  the  beating  main, 
To  cure  the  sickly  and  constrain, 
With  muttered  words  and  waving  rods, 
The  gibbering  and  the  whistling  gods. 
But  he,  though  thus  with  hand  and  head 
He  ruled,  commanded,  charmed,  and  led, 
And  thus  in  virtue  and  in  might 
Towered  to  contemporary  sight- 
Still  in  fraternal  faith  and  love, 
Remained  below  to  reach  above, 
Gave  and  obeyed  the  apt  command, 
Pilot  and  vassal  of  the  land. 


IV 

My  Tembinok',  from  men  like  these 
Inherited  his  palaces, 
His  right  to  rule,  his  powers  of  mind, 
His  cocoa-islands  sea-enshrined. 

256 


THE  HOUSE  OF  TEMBINOKA 

Stern  bearer  of  the  sword  and  whip, 

A  master  passed  in  mastership, 

He  learned,  without  the  spur  of  need, 

To  write,  to  cipher,  and  to  read; 

From  all  that  touch  on  his  prone  shoro 

Augments  his  treasury  of  lore, 

Eager  in  age  as  erst  in  youth 

To  catch  an  art,  to  learn  a  truth, 

To  paint  on  the  internal  page 

A  clearer  picture  of  the  age. 

His  age,  you  say  ?    But  ah,  not  so! 

In  his  lone  isle  of  long  ago, 

A  royal  Lady  of  Shalott, 

Sea-sundered,  he  beholds  it  not; 

He  only  hears  it  far  away. 

The  stress  of  equatorial  day 

He  suffers;  he  records  the  while 

The  vapid  annals  of  the  isle; 

Slaves  bring  him  praise  of  his  renown, 

Or  cackle  of  the  palm-tree  town; 

The  rarer  ship  and  the  rare  boat, 

He  marks;  and  only  hears  remote, 

Where  thrones  and  fortunes  rise  and  reel, 

The  thunder  of  the  turning  wheel. 


For  the  unexpected  tears  he  shed 
At  my  departing,  may  his  lion  head 
257 


UNDERWOODS 

Not  whiten,  his  revolving  years 

No  fresh  occasion  minister  of  tears; 

At  book  or  cards,  at  work  or  sport, 

Him  may  the  breeze  across  the  palace  court 

For  ever  fan;  and  swelling  near 

For  ever  the  loud  song  divert  his  ear. 

Schooner  Equator,  at  Sea. 


XXXIX 

THE   WOODMAN 

IN  all  the  grove,  nor  stream  nor  bird 
Nor  aught  beside  my  blows  was  heard, 
And  the  woods  wore  their  noonday  dress— 
The  glory  of  their  silentness. 
From  the  island  summit  to  the  seas, 
Trees  mounted,  and  trees  drooped,  and  trees 
Groped  upward  in  the  gaps.    The  green 
Inarboured  talus  and  ravine 
By  fathoms.     By  the  multitude 
The  rugged  columns  of  the  wood 
And  bunches  of  the  branches  stood: 
Thick  as  a  mob,  deep  as  a  sea, 
And  silent  as  eternity. 

With  lowered  axe,  with  backward  head, 
Late  from  this  scene  my  labourer  fled, 
And  with  a  ravelled  tale  to  tell, 
Returned.    Some  denizen  of  hell, 
Dead  man  or  disinvested  god, 
Had  close  behind  him  peered  and  trod, 
And  triumphed  when  he  turned  to  flee. 
How  different  fell  the  lines  with  me! 

259 


UNDERWOODS 

Whose  eye  explored  the  dim  arcade 

Impatient  of  the  uncoming  shade — 

Shy  elf,  or  dryad  pale  and  cold, 

Or  mystic  lingerer  from  of  old: 

Vainly.     The  fair  and  stately  things, 

Impassive  as  departed  kings, 

All  still  in  the  wood's  stillness  stood, 

And  dumb.     The  rooted  multitude 

Nodded  and  brooded,  bloomed  and  dreamed, 

Unmeaning,  undivined.     It  seemed 

No  other  art,  no  hope,  they  knew, 

Than  clutch  the  earth  and  seek  the  blue. 

Mid  vegetable  king  and  priest 
And  stripling,  I  (the  only  beast) 
Was  at  the  beast's  work,  killing;  hewed 
The  stubborn  roots  across,  bestrewed 
The  glebe  with  the  dislustred  leaves, 
And  bid  the  saplings  fall  in  sheaves; 
Bursting  across  the  tangled  math 
A  ruin  that  I  called  a  path, 
A  Golgotha  that,  later  on, 
When  rains  had  watered,  and  suns  shone, 
And  seeds  enriched  the  place,  should  bear 
And  be  called  garden.     Here  and  there, 
I  spied  and  plucked  by  the  green  hair 
A  foe  more  resolute  to  live, 
The  toothed  and  killing  sensitive. 
He,  semi-conscious,  fled  the  attack; 
He  shrank  and  tucked  his  branches  back; 
2G0 


THE  WOODMAN 

And  straining  by  his  anchor  strand, 

Captured  and  scratched  the  rooting  hand. 

I  saw  him  crouch,  I  felt  him  bite; 

And  straight  my  eyes  were  touched  with  sight 

I  saw  the  wood  for  what  it  was : 

The  lost  and  the  victorious  cause, 

The  deadly  battle  pitched  in  line, 

Saw  silent  weapons  cross  and  shine: 

Silent  defeat,  silent  assault, 

A  battle  and  a  burial  vault. 

Thick  round  me  in  the  teeming  mud 

Brier  and  fern  strove  to  the  blood. 

The  hooked  liana  in  his  gin 

Noosed  his  reluctant  neighbours  in: 

There  the  green  murderer  throve  and  spread, 

Upon  his  smothering  victims  fed, 

And  wantoned  on  his  climbing  coil. 

Contending  roots  fought  for  the  soil 

Like  frightened  demons:  with  despair 

Competing  branches  pushed  for  air. 

Green  conquerors  from  overhead 

Bestrode  the  bodies  of  their  dead: 

The  Caesars  of  the  sylvan  field, 

Unused  to  fail,  foredoomed  to  yield: 

For  in  the  groins  of  branches,  lo! 

The  cancers  of  the  orchid  grow. 

Silent  as  in  the  listed  ring 
Two  chartered  wrestlers  strain  and  cling, 
261 


UNDERWOODS 

Dnmb  as  by  yellow  Hooghly's  side 

The  suffocating  captives  die<7: 

So  hushed  the  woodland  warfare  goes 

Unceasing;  and  the  silent  foes 

Grapple  and  smother,  strain  and  clasp 

Without  a  cry,  without  a  gasp. 

Here  also  sound  thy  fans,  0  God, 

Here  too  thy  banners  move  abroad: 

Forest  and  city,  sea  and  shore, 

And  the  whole  earth,  thy  threshing-floor! 

The  drums  of  war,  the  drums  of  peace, 

Roll  through  our  cities  without  cease, 

And  all  the  iron  halls  of  life 

Ring  with  the  unremitting  strife. 

The  common  lot  we  scarce  perceive. 
Crowds  perish,  we  nor  mark  nor  grieve : 
The  bugle  calls— we  mourn  a  few! 
What  corporal's  guard  at  Waterloo  ? 
What  scanty  hundreds  more  or  less 
In  the  man-devouring  Wilderness  ? 
What  handful  bled  on  Delhi  ridge  ? 
— See,  rather,  London,  on  thy  bridge 
The  pale  battalions  trample  by, 
Resolved  to  slay,  resigned  to  die. 
Count,  rather,  all  the  maimed  and  dead 
In  the  unbrotherly  war  of  bread. 
See,  rather,  under  sultrier  skies 
What  vegetable  Londons  rise, 
2C2 


THE  WOODMAN 

And  teem,  and  suffer  without  sound. 

Or  in  your  tranquil  garden  ground, 

Contented,  in  the  falling  gloom, 

Saunter  and  see  the  roses  bloom. 

That  these  might  live,  what  thousands  died! 

All  day  the  cruel  hoe  was  plied; 

The  ambulance  barrow  rolled  all  day; 

Your  wife,  the  tender,  kind,  and  gay, 

Donned  her  long  gauntlets,  caught  the  spud 

And  bathed  in  vegetable  blood; 

And  the  long  massacre  now  at  end, 

See!  where  the  lazy  coils  ascend, 

See,  where  the  bonfire  sputters  red 

At  even,  for  the  innocent  dead. 

Why  prate  of  peace  ?  when,  warriors  all, 
We  clank  in  harness  into  hall, 
And  ever  bare  upon  the  board 
Lies  the  necessary  sword. 
In  the  green  field  or  quiet  street, 
Besieged  we  sleep,  beleaguered  eat, 
Labour  by  day  and  wake  o'  nights, 
In  war  with  rival  appetites. 
The  rose  on  roses  feeds;  the  lark 
On  larks.     The  sedentary  clerk 
All  morning  with  a  diligent  pen 
Murders  the  babes  of  other  men; 
And  like  the  beasts  of  wood  and  park, 
Protects  his  whelps,  defends  his  den. 
263 


UNDERWOODS 

Unshamed  the  narrow  aim  I  hold; 
*  feed  my  sheep,  patrol  my  fold; 
Breathe  war  on  wolves  and  rival  flocks, 
A  pious  outlaw  on  the  rocks 
Of  God  and  morning;  and  when  time 
Shall  bow,  or  rivals  break  me,  climb 
Where  no  undubbed  civilian  dares, 
In  my  war  harness,  the  loud  stairs 
Of  honour;  and  my  conqueror 
Hail  me  a  warrior  fallen  in  war. 


Vailima. 


•201 


XL 

TROPIC   RAIN 

AS  the  single  pang  of  the  blow,  when  the  metal  is  mingled 
.    well, 
Rings  and  lives  and  resounds  in  all  the  bounds  of  the  bell: 
So  the  thunder  above  spoke  with  a  single  tongue, 
So  in  the  heart  of  the  mountain  the  sound  of  it  rumbled  and 
clung. 

Sudden  the  thunder  was  drowned— quenched  was  the  levin 

light  .  .  . 
And  the  angel  spirit  of  rain  laughed  out  loud  in  the  night. 
Loud  as  the  maddened  river  raves  in  the  cloven  glen, 
Angel  of  rain!  you  laughed  and  leaped  on  the  roofs  of  men; 
And  the  sleepers  sprang  in  their  beds,  and  joyed  and  feared 

as  you  fell. 
You  struck,  and  my  cabin  quailed;  the  roof  of  it  roared  like 

a  bell, 
You  spoke,  and  at  once  the  mountain  shouted  and  shook 

with  brooks. 
You  ceased,  and  the  day  returned,  rosy,  with  virgin  looks. 
And  methought  that  beauty  and  terror  are  only  one,  not  two; 
And  the  world  has  room  for  love,  and  death,  and  thunder, 

and  dew; 

266 


UNDERWOODS 

And  all  the  sinews  of  hell  slumber  in  summer  air; 

And  the  face  of  God  is  a  rock,  but  the  face  of  the  rock  is 

fair. 
Beneficent  streams  of  tears  flow  at  the  finger  of  pain; 
And  out  of  the  cloud  that  smites,  beneficent  rivers  of  rain 
Vailima. 


966 


XLI 

AN   END   OF   TRAVEL 

ET  now  your  soul  in  this  substantial  world 
Some  anchor  strike.    Be  here  the  body  moored : 
This  spectacle  immutably  from  now 
The  picture  in  your  eye;  and  when  time  strikes, 
And  the  green  scene  goes  on  the  instant  blind, 
The  ultimate  helpers,  where  your  horse  to-day 
Conveyed  you  dreaming,  bear  your  body  dead. 

Vailima. 


267 


XLn 

WE  uncommiserate  pass  into  the  night 
From  the  loud  banquet,  and  departing  leave 
A  tremor  in  men's  memories,  faint  and  sweet 
And  frail  as  music.     Features  of  our  face, 
The  tones  of  the  voice,  the  touch  of  the  loved  hand, 
Perish  and  vanish,  one  by  one,  from  earth: 
Meanwhile,  in  the  hall  of  song,  the  multitude 
Applauds  the  new  performer.     One,  perchance, 
One  ultimate  survivor  lingers  on, 
And  smiles,  and  to  his  ancient  heart  recalls 
The  long  forgotten.     Ere  the  morrow  die, 
He  too,  returning,  through  the  curtain  comes, 
And  the  new  age  forgets  us  and  goes  on. 


268 


XLIII 

THE   LAST  SIGHT 

ONCE  more  I  saw  him.     In  the  lofty  room, 
Where  oft  with  lights  and  company  his  tongue 
Was  trump  to  honest  laughter,  sate  attired 
A  something  in  his  likeness.— « Look! »  said  one, 
Unkindly  kind,  «look  up,  it  is  your  boy!» 
And  the  dread  changeling  gazed  on  me  in  vain. 


269 


XLIV 

SING  me  a  song  of  a  lad  that  is  gone, 
Say,  could  that  lad  be  I  ? 
Merry  of  soul  he  sailed  on  a  day 
Over  the  sea  to  Skye. 

Mull  was  astern,  Rum  on  the  port, 

Egg  on  the  starboard  bow; 
Glory  of  youth  glowed  in  his  soul: 

Where  is  that  glory  now  ? 

Sing  me  a  song  of  a  lad  that  is  gone. 

Say,  could  that  lad  be  I  ? 
Merry  of  soul  he  sailed  on  a  day 

Over  the  sea  to  Skye. 

Give  me  again  all  that  was  there, 
Give  me  the  sun  that  shone ! 

Give  me  the  eyes,  give  me  the  soul, 
Give  me  the  lad  that's  gone! 

Sing  me  a  song  of  a.  lad  that  is  gone, 

Say,  could  that  lad  be  I  ? 
Merry  of  soul  he  sailed  on  a  day 

Over  the  sea  to  Skye. 

270 


SING  ME  A  SONG 

Billow  and  breeze,  islands  and  seas, 
Mountains  of  rain  and  sun, 

All  that  was  good,  all  that  was  fair, 
All  that  was  me  is  gone. 


271 


XLV 

TO   S.   R.    CROCKETT 

(In  Reply  to  a  Dedication) 

T)LOWS  the  wind  to-day,  and  the  sun  and  the  rain  are 
D  flying, 

Blows  the  wind  on  the  moors  to-day  and  now, 
Where  about  the  graves  of  the  martyrs  the  whaups  are 
crying, 

My  heart  remembers  how! 

Grey  recumbent  tombs  of  the  dead  in  desert  places, 
Standing  stones  on  the  vacant  wine-red  moor, 

Hills  of  sheep,  and  the  homes  of  the  silent  vanished  races, 
And  winds,  austere  and  pure: 

Be  it  granted  me  to  behold  you  again  in  dying, 

Hills  of  home!  and  to  hear  again  the  call; 
Hear  about  the  graves  of  the  martyrs  the  peewees  crying, 

And  hear  no  more  at  all. 

Vailima. 


272 


XLVI 

EVENSONG 

THE  embers  of  the  day  are  red 
Beyond  the  murky  hill. 
The  kitchen  smokes:  the  bed 
In  the  darkling  house  is  spread: 
The  great  sky  darkens  overhead, 
And  the  great  woods  are  shrill. 
So  far  have  I  been  led, 
Lord,  by  Thy  will: 
So  far  I  have  followed,  Lord,  and  wondered  still. 

The  breeze  from  the  embalmed  land 

Blows  sudden  toward  the  shore, 

And  claps  my  cottage  door. 

I  hear  the  signal,  Lord— I  understand. 

The  night  at  Thy  command 

Comes.    I  will  eat  and  sleep  and  will  not  question 

more. 
Vailima. 


273 


BALLADS 


THE  SONG  OF  RAHERO 


TO  ORI  A  ORI. 

Ori,  my  brother  in  the  island  mode, 

In  every  tongue  and  meaning  much  my  friend, 

This  story  of  your  country  and  your  clan, 

In  your  loved  house,  your  too  much  honoured  guest., 

I  made  in  English.     Take  it,  being  done; 

And  let  me  sign  it  with  the  name  you  gave. 

Teriitera. 


378 


THE  SONG  OF  RAHERO: 

A  LEGEND  OF  TAHITI 
I.  THE   SLAYING   OF   TAMATEA 

IT  fell  in  the  days  of  old,  as  the  men  of  Taiarapu  tell, 
A  youth  went  forth  to  the  fishing,  and  fortune  favoured 

him  well. 
Tamatea  his  name:  gullible,  simple  and  kind, 
Comely  of  countenance,  nimble  of  body,  empty  of  mind, 
His  mother  ruled  him  and  loved  him  beyond  the  wont  of  a 

wife, 
Serving  the  lad  for  eyes  and  living  herself  in  his  life. 
Alone  from  the  sea  and  the  fishing  came  T&matea  the  fair, 
Urging  his  boat  to  the  beach,  and  the  mother  awaited  him 

there, 
—  «Long  may  you  live!*  said  she.     «  Your  fishing  has  sped 

to  a  wish. 
And  now  let  us  choose  for  the  king  the  fairest  of  all  your  10 

fish. 
For  fear  inhabits  the  palace  and  grudging  grows  in  the 

land, 
Marked  is  the  sluggardly  foot  and  marked  the  niggardly 

hand, 

279 


BALLADS 

The  hours  and  the  miles  are  counted,  the  tributes  numbered 

and  weighed, 
And  woe  to  him  that  comes  short,  and  woe  to  him  that 

delayed !  i 

So  spoke  on  the  beach  the  mother,  aDd  counselled  the  wiser 

thing. 
For  Rahero  stirred  in  the  country  and  secretly  mined  the 

king. 
Nor  were  the  signals  wanting  of  how  the  leaven  wrought, 
In  the  cords  of  obedience  loosed  and  the  tributes  grudgingly 

brought. 
And  when  last  to  the  temple  of  Oro  the  boat  with  the  victim 

sped, 
20  And  the  priest  uncovered  the  basket  and  looked  on  the  face 

of  the  dead, 
Trembling  fell  upon  all  at  sight  of  an  ominous  thing, 
For  there  was  the  aito1  dead,  and  he  of  the  house  of  the  king. 

So  spake  on  the  beach  the  mother,  matter  worthy  of  note, 
And  wattled  a  basket  well,  and  chose  a  fish  from  the  boat; 
And  Tamatea  the  pliable  shouldered  the  basket  and  went, 
And  travelled,  and  sang  as  he  travelled,  a  lad  that  was  well 

content. 
Still  the  way  of  his  going  was  round  by  the  roaring  coast, 
Where  the  ring  of  the  reef  is  broke  and  the  trades  run  riot 

the  most. 
On  his  left,  with  smoke  as  of  battle,  the  billows  battered 

the  land; 
30  Unscalable,  turretted  mountains  rose  on  the  inner  hand. 

280 


THE  SONG  OF  RAHERO 

And  cape,  and  village,  and  river,  and  vale,  and  mountain 

above, 
Each  had  a  name  in  the  land  for  men  to  remember  and  love; 
And  never  the  name  of  a  place,  but  lo!  a  song  in  its  praise: 
Ancient  and  unforgotten,  songs  of  the  earlier  days, 
That  the  elders  taught  to  the  young,  and  at  night,  in  the 

full  of  the  moon, 
Garlanded  boys  and  maidens  sang  together  in  tune. 
Tamatea  the  placable  went  with  a  lingering  foot; 
He  sang  as  loud  as  a  bird,  he  whistled  hoarse  as  a  flute; 
He  broiled  in  the  sun,  he  breathed  in  the  grateful  shadow 

of  trees, 
In  the  icy  stream  of  the  rivers  he  waded  over  the  knees;      40 
And  still  in  his  empty  mind  crowded,  a  thousand-fold, 
The  deeds  of  the  strong  and  the  songs  of  the  cunning  heroes 

of  old. 

And  now  was  he  come  to  a  place  Taiarapu  honoured  the 

most, 
Where  a  silent  valley  of  woods  debouched  on  the  noisy  coast, 
Spewing  a  level  river.    There  was  a  haunt  of  Pai.2 
There,  in  his  potent  youth,  when  his  parents  drove  him 

die, 
Honoura  lived  like  a  beast,  lacking  the  lamp  and  the  fire 
Washed  by  the  rains  of  the  trade  and  clotting  his  haix  in 

the  mire; 
And  there,  so  mighty  his  hands,  he  bent  the  tree  to  his 

foot— 
So  keen  the  spur  of  his  hunger,  he  plucked  it  naked  of  fruit.  5(J 

281 


BALLADS 

There,  as  she  pondered  the  clouds  for  the  shadow  of  coming 

ills, 
Ahupu,  the  woman  of  song,  walked  on  high  on  the  hills. 

Of  these  was  Rahero  sprung,  a  man  of  a  godly  race; 
And  inherited  cunning  of  spirit  and  beauty  of  body  and  face. 
Of  yore  in  his  youth,  as  an  aito,  Rahero  wandered  the  land, 
Delighting  maids  with  his  tongue,  smiting  men  with  his 

hand. 
Famous  he  was  in  his  youth;  but  before  the  midst  of  his  life 
Paused,  and  fashioned  a  song  of  farewell  to  glory  and  strife. 

House  of  mine  (it  went),  house  upon  the  sea, 
60  Belov'd  of  all  my  fathers,  more  belov'd  by  me! 
Vale  of  the  strong  Honoura,  deep  ravine  of  Pai, 
Again  in  your  woody  summits  I  hear  the  trade-wind  cry. 

House  of  mine,  in  your  walls,  strong  sounds  the  sea, 

Of  all  sounds  on  earth,  dearest  sound  to  me. 

I  have  heard  the  applause  of  men,  I  have  heard  it  arise  and 

die: 
Sweeter  now  in  my  house  I  hear  the  trade-wind  cry. 

These  were  the  words  of  his  singing,  other  the  thought  of 

his  heart; 
For  secret  desire  of  glory  vexed  him,  dwelling  apart. 
Lazy  and  crafty  he  was,  and  loved  to  lie  in  the  sun, 
70  And  loved  the  cackle  of  talk  and  the  true  word  uttered  in 

fun; 

282 


THE  SONG  OF  RAHERO 

Lazy  he  was,  his  roof  was  ragged,  his  table  was  lean, 
And  the  fish  swam  safe  in  his  sea,  and  he  gathered  the  near 

and  the  green. 
He  sat  in  his  house  and  laughed,  but  he  loathed  the  king  of 

the  land, 
And  he  uttered  the  grudging  word  under  the  covering  hand. 
Treason  spread  from  his  door ;  and  he  looked  for  a  day  to  come, 
A  day  of  the  crowding  people,  a  day  of  the  summoning  drum, 
When  the  vote  should  be  taken,  the  king  be  driven  forth  in 

disgrace, 
And  Rahero,  the  laughing  and  lazy,  sit  and  rule  in  his  place. 

Here  Tamatea  came,  and  beheld  the  house  on  the  brook; 
And  Rahero  was  there  by  the  way  and  covered  an  oven  to  8C 

cook.3 
Naked  he  was  to  the  loins,  but  the  tattoo  covered  the  lack, 
And  the  sun  and  the  shadow  of  palms  dappled  his  muscular 

back. 
Swiftly  he  lifted  his  head  at  the  fall  of  the  coming  feet, 
And  the  water  sprang  in  his  mouth  with  a  sudden  desire  of 

meat; 
For  he  marked  the  basket  carried,  covered  from  flies  ana 

the  sun;4 
And  Rahero  buried  his  fire,  but  the  meat  in  his  house  was 

done. 

Forth  he  stepped;  and  took,  and  delayed  the  boy,  by  the  hand; 
And  vaunted  the  joys  of  meat  and  the  ancient  ways  of  the 
land: 

283 


BALLADS 

— «  Our  sires  of  old  in  Taiarapu,  they  that  created  the  race, 
90  Ate  ever  with  eager  hand,  nor  regarded  season  or  place, 
Ate  in  the  boat  at  the  oar,  on  the  way  afoot;  and  at  night 
Arose  in  the  midst  of  dreams  to  rummage  the  house  for  a 

bite. 
It  is  good  for  the  youth  in  his  turn  to  follow  the  way  of  the 

sire; 
And  behold  how  fitting  the  time !    For  here  do  I  cover  my 

fire.» 
—  «I  see  the  fire  for  the  cooking,  but  never  the  meat  to 

cook,» 
Said  Tamatea.— «Tut!»   said  Rahero.     «Here  in  the  brook 
And  there  in  the  tumbling  sea,  the  fishes  are  thick  as  flies, 
Hungry  like  healthy  men,  and  like  pigs  for  savour  and 

size: 
Crayfish  crowding  the  river,  sea-fish  thronging  the  sea.» 
100  —  «Well  it  may  be,»  says  the  other,  «and  yet  be  nothing 

to  me. 
Fain  would  I  eat,  but  alas!  I  have  needful  matter  in  hand, 
Since  I  carry  my  tribute  of  fish  to  the  jealous  king  of  the 

land.o 

Now  at  the  word  a  light  sprang  in  Rahero's  eyes. 

« I  will  gain  me  a  dinner,))  thought  he,  «  and  lend  the  king  a 
surprise.)) 

And  he  took  the  lad  by  the  arm,  as  they  stood  by  the  side 
of  the  track, 

And  smiled,  and  rallied,  and  flattered,  and  pushed  him  for- 
ward and  back. 

284 


THE  SONG  OF  RAHERO 

It  was  « You  that  sing  like  a  bird,  I  never  have  heard  you 

sing,» 
And  « The  lads  when  I  was  a  lad  were  none  so  feared  of  a 

king. 
And  of  what  account  is  an  hour,  when  the  heart  is  empty  of 

guile? 
But  come,  and  sit  in  the  house  and  laugh  with  the  women  110 

awhile; 
And  I  will  but  drop  my  hook,  and  behold!  the  dinner  made.» 

So  Tamatea  the  pliable  hung  up  his  fish  in  the  shade 

On  a  tree  by  the  side  of  the  way;  and  Rahero  carried  him  in, 

Smiling  as  smiles  the  fowler  when  flutters  the  bird  to  the 

gin, 
And  chose  him  a  shining  hook,5  and  viewed  it  with  sedulous 

eye, 
And  breathed  and  burnished  it  well  on  the  brawn  of  his 

naked  thigh, 
And  set  a  mat  for  the  gull,  and  bade  him  be  merry  and  bide, 
Like  a  man  concerned  for  his  guest,  and  the  fishing,  and 

nothing  beside. 

Now  when  Rahero  was  forth,  he  paused  and  hearkened,  and 

heard 
The  gull  jest  in  the  house  and  the  women  laugh  at  his  word;  120 
And  stealthily  crossed  to  the  side  of  the  way,  to  the  shady 

place 
Where  the  basket  hung  on  a  mango;  and  craft  transfigured 

his  face. 

285 


BALLADS 

Deftly  he  opened  the  basket,  and  took  of  the  fat  of  the  fish, 
The  cut  of  kings  and  chieftains,  enough  for  a  goodly  dish. 
This  he  wrapped  in  a  leaf,  set  on  the  fire  to  cook 
And  buried ;  and  next  the  marred  remains  of  the  tribute  he 

took, 
And  doubled  and  packed  them  well,  and  covered  the  basket 

close 
— « There  is  a  buffet,  my  king,»  quoth  he,  «and  a  nauseous 

dose!» — 
And  hung  the  basket  again  in  the  shade,  in  a  cloud  of  flies 
130  —  i  And  there  is  a  sauce  to  your  dinner,  king  of  the  crafty 

eyes!» 

Soon  as  the  oven  was  open,  the  fish  smelt  excellent  good. 
In  the  shade,  by  the  house  of  Rahero,  down  they  sat  to  their 

food, 
And  cleared  the  leaves 6  in  silence,  or  uttered  a  jest  and 

laughed, 
And  raising  the  cocoa-nut  bowls,  buried  their  faces  and 

quaffed. 
But  chiefly  in  silence  they  ate;  and  soon  as  the  meal  was  done, 
Rahero  feigned  to  remember  and  measured  the  hour  by  the 

sun, 
And  «  Tamatea,»  quoth  he,  « it  is  time  to  be  jogging,  my  lad.» 

So  Tamatea  arose,  doing  ever  the  thing  he  was  bade, 
And  carelessly  shouldered  the  basket,  and  kindly  saluted  his 
host; 
140  And  again  the  way  of  his  going  was  round  by  the  roaring 
coast. 

28B 


THE  SONG  OF  RAHERO 

Long  he  went;  and  at  length  was  aware  of  a  pleasant  green, 
And  the  stems  and  shadows  of  palms,  and  roofs  of  lodges 

between. 
There  sate,  in  the  door  of  his  palace,  the  king  on  a  kingly 

seat, 
And  aitos  stood  armed  around,  and  the  yottowas 7  sat  at  his 

feet. 
But  fear  was  a  worm  in  his  heart:  fear  darted  his  eyes; 
And  he  probed  men's  faces  for  treasons  and  pondered  their 

speech  for  lies. 
To  him  came  Tamatea,  the  basket  slung  in  his  hand, 
And  paid  him  the  due  obeisance  standing  as  vassals  stand. 
In  silence  hearkened  the  king,  and  closed  the  eyes  in  his 

face, 
Harbouring  odious  thoughts  and  the  baseless  fears  of  the  150 

base; 
In  silence  accepted  the  gift  and  sent  the  giver  away. 
So  Tamatea  departed,  turning  his  back  on  the  day. 

And  lo!  as  the  king  sat  brooding,  a  rumour  rose  in  the 

crowd ; 
The  yottowas  nudged  and  whispered,  the  commons  murmured 

aloud; 
Tittering  fell  upon  all  at  sight  of  the  impudent  thing, 
At  the  sight  of  a  gift  unroyal  flung  in  the  face  of  a  king. 
And  the  face  of  the  king  turned  white  and  red  with  anger 

and  shame 
In  their  midst;  and  the  heart  in  his  body  was  water  and 

then  was  flame; 

287 


BALLADS 

Till  of  a  sudden,  turning,  he  gripped  an  aito  hard, 
160  A  youth  that  stood  with  his  omare,8  one  of  the  daily  guard, 
And  spat  in  his  ear  a  command,  and  pointed  and  uttered  a 

name, 
And  hid  in  the  shade  of  the  house  his  impotent  anger  and 

shame. 

Now  Tamatea  the  fool  was  far  on  the  homeward  way, 
The  rising  night  in  his  face,  behind  him  the  dying  day. 
Rahero  saw  him  go  by,  and  the  heart  of  Rahero  was  glad, 
Devising  shame  to  the  king  and  nowise  harm  to  the  lad; 
And  all  that  dwelt  by  the  way  saw  and  saluted  him  well, 
For  he  had  the  face  of  a  friend  and  the  news  of  the  town  to  tell ; 
And  pleased  with  the  notice  of  folk,  and  pleased  that  his 
journey  was  done, 
170  Tamatea  drew  homeward,  turning  his  back  to  the  sun. 

And  now  was  the  hour  of  the  bath  in  Taiarapu;  far  and  near 
The  lovely  laughter  of  bathers  rose  and  delighted  his  ear. 
Night  massed  in  the  valleys;  the  sun  on  the  mountain  coast 
Struck,  end-long;  and  above  the  clouds  embattled  their  host, 
And  glowed  and  gloomed  on  the  heights;  and  the  heads  of 

the  palms  were  gems, 
And  far  to  the  rising  eve  extended  the  shade  of  their  stems; 
And  the  shadow  of  Tamatea  hovered  already  at  home. 

And  sudden  the  sound  of  one  coming  and  running  light  as 

the  foam 
Struck  on  his  ear;  and  he  turned,  and  lo!  a  man  on  his  track, 
180  Girded  and  armed  with  an  omare,  following  hard  at  his  back. 

288 


THE  SONG  OF  RAHERO 

At  a  bound  the  man  was  upon  him;— and,  or  ever  a  word 

was  said, 
The  loaded  end  of  the  omare  fell  and  laid  him  dead. 


II.  THE   VENGING  OF   TAMATEA 

Thus  was  Raheio's  treason;  thus  and  no  further  it  sped— 
The  king  sat  safe  in  his  place  and  a  kindly  fool  was  dead. 

But  the  mother  of  Tamatea  arose  with  death  in  her  eyes. 
All  night  long,  and  the  next,  Taiarapu  rang  with  her  cries. 
As  when  a  babe  in  the  wood  turns  with  a  chill  of  doubt 
And  perceives  nor  home,  nor  friends,  for  the  trees  have 

closed  her  about, 
The  mountain  rings  and  her  breast  is  torn  with  the  voice  of 

despair: 
So  the  lion-like  woman  idly  wearied  the  air  190 

For  a  while,  and  pierced  men's  hearing  in  vain,  and  wounded 

their  hearts. 
But  as  when  the  weather  changes  at  sea,  in  dangerous 

parts, 
And  sudden  the  hurricane  wrack  unrolls  up  the  front  of  the 

sky, 
At  once  the  ship  lies  idle,  the  sails  hang  silent  on  high, 
The  breath  of  the  wind  that  blew  is  blown  out  like  the  flame 

of  a  lamp, 
And  the  silent  armies  of  death  drew  near  with  inaudible 

tramp: 

289 


BALLAD 

So  sudden,  the  voice  of  her  weeping  ceased;  in  silence  she 

rose 
And  passed  from  the  house  of  her  sorrow,  a  woman  clothed 

with  repose, 
Carrying  death  in  her  breast  and  sharpening  death  with  her 

hand. 

200  Hither  she  went  and   thither  in  all   the  coasts  of  the 

land. 
They  tell  that  she  feared  not  to  slumber  alone,  in  the  dead 

of  night, 
In   accursed   places;    beheld,  unblenched,   the  ribbon   of 

light9 
Spin  from  temple  to  temple;  guided  the  perilous  skiff, 
Abhorred  not  the  paths  of  the  mountain  and  trod  the  verge 

of  the  cliff; 
From  end  to  end  of  the  island,  thought  not  the  distance 

long, 
But  forth  from  king  to  king  carried  the  tale  of  her  wrong. 
To  king  after  king,  as  they  sat  in  the  palace  door,  she 

came, 
Claiming  kinship,  declaiming  verses,  naming  her  name 
And  the  names  of  all  of  her  fathers;  and  still,  with  a  heart 

on  the  rack, 
210  Jested  to  capture  a  hearing  and  laughed  when  they  jested 

back: 
So  would  deceive  them  awhile,  and  change  and  return  in  a 

breath, 
And  on  all  the  men  of  Vaiau  imprecate  instant  death; 

290 


THE  SONG  OF  RAHERO 

And  tempt  her  kings— for  Vaiau  was  a  rich  and  prosperous 

land, 
And  flatter— for  who  would  attempt  it  but  warriors  mighty 

of  hand  ? 
And  change  in  a  breath  again  and  rise  in  a  strain  of  song, 
Invoking   the   beaten  drums,   beholding   the  fall  of   the 

strong, 
Calling  the  fowls  of  the  air  to  come  and  feast  on  the  dead. 
And  they  held  the  chin  in  silence,  and  heard  her,  and  shook 

the  head; 
For  they  knew  the  men  of  Taiarapu  famous  in  battle  and 

feast, 
Marvellous  eaters  and  smiters:  the  men  of  Vaiau  not  least.  220 

To  the  land  of  the  Namunu-ura,10  to  Paea,  at  length  she 

came, 
To  men  who  were  foes  to  the  Tevas  and  hated  their  race 

and  name. 
There  was  she  well  received,  and  spoke  with  Hiopa  the 

king.11 
And  Hiopa  listened,  and  weighed,  and  wisely  considered  the 

thing. 
«Here  in  the  back  of  the  isle  we  dwell  in  a  sheltered 

place,* 
Quoth  he  to  the  woman,  « in  quiet,  a  weak  and  peaceable 

race. 
But  far  in  the  teeth  of  the  wind  lofty  Taiarapu  lies; 
Strong  blows  the  wind  of  the  trade  on  its  seaward  face,  and 

cries 

291 


BALLADS 

Aloud  in  the  top  of  arduous  mountains,  and  utters  its  song 
230  In  green  continuous  forests.     Strong  is  the  wind,  and  strong 
And  fruitful  and  hardy  the  race,  famous  in  battle  and  feast, 
Marvellous  eaters  and  smiters:  the  men  of  Vaiau  not  least. 
Now  hearken  to  me,  my  daughter,  and  hear  a  word  of  the 

wise: 
How  a  strength  goes  linked  with  a  weakness,  two  by  two, 

like  the  eyes. 
They  can  wield  the  omare  well  and  cast  the  javelin  far; 
Yet  are  they  greedy  and  weak  as  the  swine  and  the  children 

are. 
Plant  we,  then,  here  at  Paea,  a  garden  of  excellent  fruits; 
Plant  we  bananas  and  kava  and  taro,  the  king  of  roots; 
Let  the  pigs  in  Paea  be  tapu  12  and  no  man  fish  for  a  year; 
240  And  of  all  the  meat  in  Tahiti  gather  we  threefold  here. 
So  shall  the  fame  of  our  plenty  fill  the  island,  and  so, 
At  last,  on  the  tongue  of  rumour,  go  where  we  wish  it  to  go. 
Then  shall  the  pigs  of  Taiarapu  raise  their  snouts  in  the  air; 
But  we  sit  quiet  and  wait,  as  the  fowler  sits  by  the  snare, 
And  tranquilly  fold  our  hands,  till  the  pigs  come  nosing  the 

food: 
But  meanwhile  build  us  a  house  of  Trotea,  the  stubborn 

wood, 
Bind  it  with  incombustible  thongs,  set  a  roof  to  the  room, 
Too  strong  for  the  hands  of  a  man  to  dissever  or  fire  to  con- 
sume; 
And  there,  when  the  pigs  come  trotting,  there  shall  the 

feast  be  spread, 
250  There  shall  the  eye  of  the  morn  enlighten  the  feasters  dead. 

202 


THE  SONG  OP  RAHERO 

So  be  it  done;  for  I  have  a  heart  that  pities  your  state, 
And  Nateva  and  Namunu-tira  are  fire  and  water  for  hate.» 

All  was  done  as  he  said,  and  the  gardens  prospered;  and 

now 
The  fame  of  their  plenty  went  out,  and  word  of  it  came  to 

Vaiau. 
For  the  men  of  Namunu-tira  sailed,  to  the  windward  far, 
Lay  in  the  offing  by  south  where  the  towns  of  the  Tevas  are, 
And  cast  overboard  of  their  plenty;  and  lo!  at  the  Tevas' 

feet 
The  surf  on  all  of  the  beaches  tumbled  treasures  of  meat. 
In  the  salt  of  the  sea,  a  harvest  tossed  with  the  refluent 

foam; 
And  the  children  gleaned  it  in  playing,  and  ate  and  carried  260 

it  home; 
And  the  elders  stared  and  debated,  and  wondered  and  passed 

the  jest, 
But  whenever  a  guest  came  by  eagerly  questioned  the 

guest; 
And  little  by  little,  from  one  to  another,  the  word  went 

round: 
« In  all  the  borders  of  Paea  the  victual  rots  on  the  ground, 
And  swine  are  plenty  as  rats.     And  now,  when  they  fare  to 

the  sea, 
The  men  of  the  Namunu-tira  glean  from  under  the  tree 
And  load  the  canoe  to  the  gunwale  with  all  that  is  tooth- 
some to  eat; 
And  all  day  long  on  the  sea  the  jaws  are  crushing  the  meat, 

293 


BALLADS 

The  steersman  eats  at  the  helm,  the  rowers  munch  at  the 

oar, 
270  And  at  length,  when  their  bellies  are  full,  overboard  with 

the  store!* 
Now  was  the  word  made  true,  and  soon  as  the  bait  was 

bare, 
All  the  pigs  of  Taiarapu  raised  their  snouts  in  the  air. 
Songs  were  recited,  and  kinship  was  counted,  and  tales  were 

told 
How  war  had  severed  of  late  but  peace  had  cemented  of 

old 
The  clans  of  the  island.     « To  war,»  said  they,  «  now  set  we 

an  end, 
And  hie  to  the  Namunu-ura  even  as  a  friend  to  a  friend.* 

So  judged,  and  a  day  was  named;  and  soon  as  the  morning 
broke, 

Canoes  were  thrust  in  the  sea  and  the  houses  emptied  of 
folk. 

Strong  blew  the  wind  of  the  south,  the  wind  that  gathers 
the  clan; 
280  Along  all  the  line  of  the  reef  the  clamorous  surges  ran; 

And  the  clouds  were  piled  on  the  top  of  the  island  moun- 
tain-high, 

A  mountain  throned  on  a  mountain.    The  fleet  of  canoes 
swept  by 

In  the  midst,  on  the  green  lagoon,  with  a  crew  released  from 
care, 

Sailing  an  even  water,  breathing  a  summer  air, 

294 


THE  SONG  OF  RAHERO 

Cheered  by  a  cloudless  sun;  and  ever  to  left  and  right, 
Bursting  surge  on  the  reef,  drenching  storms  on  the  height. 
So  the  folk  of  Vaiau  sailed  and  were  glad  all  day, 
Coasting  the  palm-tree  cape  and  crossing  the  populous  bay 
By  all  the  towns  of  the  Tevas;  and  still  as  they  bowled 

along, 
Boat  would  answer  to  boat  with  jest  and  laughter  and  song,  290 
And  the  people  of  all  the  towns  trooped  to  the  sides  of  the 

sea 
And  gazed  from  under  the  hand  or  sprang  aloft  on  the  tree, 
Hailing  and  cheering.     Time  failed  them  for  more  to  do; 
The  holiday  village  careened  to  the  wind,  and  was  gone  from 

view 
Swift  as  a  passing  bird;  and  ever  as  onward  it  bore, 
Like  the  cry  of  the  passing  bird,  bequeathed  its  song  to  the 

shore— 
Desirable  laughter  of  maids  and  the  cry  of  delight  of  the 

child. 
And  the  gazer,  left  behind,  stared  at  the  wake  and  smiled. 
By  all  the  towns  of  the  Tevas  they  went,  and  Papara  last, 
The  home  of  the  chief,  the  place  of  muster  in  war;  and  300 

passed 
The  march  of  the  lands  of  the  clan,  to  the  lands  of  an  alien 

folk. 
And  there,  from  the  dusk  of  the  shoreside  palms,  a  column 

of  smoke 
Mounted  and  wavered  and  died  in  the  gold  of  the  setting  sun, 
« Paea ! »  they  cried.    « It  is  Paea.»    And  so  was  the  voyage 

done. 

295 


BALLADS 

In  the  early  fall  of  the  night,  Hiopa  came  to  the  shore, 
And  beheld  and  counted  the  comers,  and  lo,  they  were  forty 

score: 
The  pelting  feet  of  the  babes  that  ran  already  and  played, 
The  clean-lipped  smile  of  the  boy,  the  slender  breasts  of  the 

maid, 
And  mighty  limbs  of  women,  stalwart  mothers  of  men. 
310  The  sires  stood  forth  unabashed;  but  a  little  back  from  his 

ken 
Clustered  the  scarcely  nubile,  the  lads  and  maids,  in  a  ring, 
Fain  of  each  other,  afraid  of  themselves,  aware  of  the  king 
And  aping  behaviour,  but  clinging  together  with  hands  and 

eyes, 
With  looks  that  were  kind  like  kisses,  and  laughter  tender 

as  sighs. 
There,  too,  the  grandsire  stood,  raising  his  silver  crest, 
And  the  impotent  hands  of  a  suckling  groped  in  his  barren 

breast. 
The  childhood  of  love,  the  pair  well  married,  the  innocent 

brood, 
The  tale  of  the  generations  repeated  and  ever  renewed— 
Hiopa  beheld  them  together,  all  the  ages  of  man, 
320  And  a  moment  shook  in  his  purpose. 

But  these  were  the  foes  of  his  clan, 
And  he  trod  upon  pity,  and  came,  and  civilly  greeted  the 

king, 
And  gravely  entreated  Rahero;  and  for  all  that  could  fight 
or  sing, 

296 


THE  SONG  OF  RAHERO 

And  claimed  a  name  in  the  land,  had  fitting  phrases  of 

praise; 
But  with  all  who  were  well-descended  he  spoke  of  the  ancient 

days. 
And  «  Tis  true,»  said  he,  « that  in  Paea  the  victual  rots  on 

the  ground; 
But,  friends,  your  number  is  many;  and  pigs  must  be  hunted 

and  found, 
And  the  lads  troop  to  the  mountains  to  bring  the  feis  down, 
And  around  the  bowls  of  the  kava  cluster  the  maids  of  the 

town. 
So,  for  to-night,  sleep  here;  but  king,  common,  and  priest     330 
To-morrow,  in  order  due,  shall  sit  with  me  in  the  feast.w 
Sleepless  the  live-long  night,  Hiopa's  followers  toiled. 
The  pigs  screamed  and  were  slaughtered;  the  spars  of  the 

guest-house  oiled, 
The  leaves  spread  on  the  floor.    In  many  a  mountain  glen 
The  moon  drew  shadows  of  trees  on  the  naked  bodies  of  men 
Plucking  and  bearing  fruits;  and  in  all  the  bounds  of  the 

town 
Red  glowed  the  cocoa-nut  fires,  and  were  buried  and  trodden 

down. 
Thus  did  seven  of  the  yottowas  toil  with  their  tale  of  the 

clan, 
But  the  eighth  wrought  with  his  lads,  hid  from  the  sight  of 

man. 
In  the  deeps  of  the  woods  they  laboured,  piling  the  fuel  high  340 
In  fagots,  the  load  of  a  man,  fuel  seasoned  and  dry, 
Thirsty  to  seize  upon  fire  and  apt  to  blurt  into  flame. 

297 


BALLADS 

And  now  was  the  day  of  the  feast.    The  forests,  as  morning 

came, 
Tossed  in  the  wind,  and  the  peaks  quaked  in  the  blaze  of 

the  day, 
And  the  cocoa-nuts  showered  on  the  ground,  rebounding  and 

rolling  away: 
A  glorious  morn  for  a  feast,  a  famous  wind  for  a  fire. 
To  the  hall  of  feasting  Hiopa  led  them,  mother  and  sire 
And  maid  and  babe  in  a  tale,  the  whole  of  the  holiday 

throng. 
Smiling  they  came,  garlanded  green,  not  dreaming  of  wrong; 
350  And  for  every  three,  a  pig,  tenderly  cooked  in  the  ground, 
Waited;  and  fei,  the  staff  of  life,  heaped  in  a  mound 
For  each  where  he  sat;— for  each,  bananas  roasted  and  raw 
Piled  with  a  bountiful  hand,  as  for  horses  hay  and  straw 
Are  stacked  in  a  stable;  and  fish,  the  food  of  desire,13 
And  plentiful  vessels  of  sauce,  and  breadfruit  gilt  in  the 

fire;— 
And  kava  was  common  as  water.    Feasts  have  there  been 

ere  now, 
And  many,  but  never  a  feast  like  that  of  the  folk  of  Vaiau. 

All  day  long  they  ate  with  the  resolute  greed  of  brutes, 
And  turned  from  the  pigs  to  the  fish,  and  again  from  the 

fish  to  the  fruits, 
360  And  emptied  the  vessels  of  sauce,  and  drank  of  the  kava 

deep; 
Till  the  young  lay  stupid  as  stones,  and  the  strongest  nodded 

to  sleep. 

298 


THE  SONG  OF  RAHFJtO 

Sleep  that  was  mighty  as  death  and  blind  as  a  moonless 

night 
Tethered  them  hand  and  foot;  and  their  souls  were  drowned, 

and  the  light 
Was  cloaked  from  their  eyes.    Senseless  together,  the  old 

and  the  young, 
The  fighter  deadly  to  smite  and  the  prater  cunning  of  tongue, 
The  woman  wedded  and  fruitful,  inured  to  the  pangs  of 

birth, 
And  the  maid  that  knew  not  of  kisses,  blindly  sprawled  on 

the  earth. 
From  the  hall  Hiopa  the  king  and  his  chiefs  came  stealthily 

forth. 

Already  the  sun  hung  low  and  enlightened  the  peaks  of  the 

north; 
But  the  wind  was  stubborn  to  die  and  blew  as  it  blows  at  370 

morn, 
Showering  the  nuts  in  the  dusk,  and  e'en  as  a  banner  is 

torn, 
High  on  the  peaks  of  the  island,  shattered  the  mountain 

cloud. 
And  now  at  once,  at  a  signal,  a  silent,  emulous  crowd 
Set  hands  to  the  work  of  death,  hurrying  to  and  fro, 
Like  ants,  to  furnish  the  fagots,  building  them  broad  and 

low, 
And  piling  them  high  and  higher  around  the  walls  of  the 

hall. 
Silence  persisted  within,  for  sleep  lay  heavy  on  all. 

299 


BALLADS 

But  the  mother  of  T&matea  stood  at  Hiopa's  side, 
And  shook  for  terror  and  joy  like  a  girl  that  is  a  bride. 
3S0  Night  fell  on  the  toilers,  and  first  Hiopa  the  wise  ,r 

Made  the  round  of  the  house,  visiting  all  with  his  eyes;" 
And  all  was  piled  to  the  eaves,  and  fuel  blockaded  the  door; 
And  within,  in  the  house  beleaguered,  slumbered  the  forty 

score. 
Then  was  an  aito  dispatched  and  came  with  fire  in  his  hand, 
And  Hiopa  took  it.— «  Within,))  said  he,  « is  the  life  of  a 

land; 
And  behold!  I  breathe  on  the  coal,  I  breathe  on  the  dales  of 

the  east, 
And  silence  falls  on  forest  and  shore;  the  voice  of  the  feast 
Is  quenched,  and  the  smoke  of  cooking;  the  roof  tree  decays 

and  falls 
On  the  empty  lodge,  and  the  winds  subvert  deserted  walls.)) 

390  Therewithal,  to  the  fuel,  he  laid  the  glowing  coal; 

And  the  redness  ran  in  the  mass  and  burrowed  within  like  a 

mole, 
And  copious  smoke  was  conceived.     But,  as  when  a  dam  is 

to  burst, 
The  water  lips  it  and  crosses  in  silver  trickles  at  first, 
And  then,  of  a  sudden,  whelms  and  bears  it  away  forthright: 
So  now,  in  a  moment,  the  flame  sprang  and  towered  in  the 

night, 
And  wrestled  and  roared  in  the  wind,  and  high  over  house 

and  tree, 
Stood,  like  a  streaming  torch,  enlightening  land  and  sea. 

300 


THE  SONG  OF  RAHERO 

But  the  mother  of  Tamatea  threw  her  arms  abroad, 
« Pyre  of  my  son,»  she  shouted,  «  debited  vengeance  of  God, 
Late,  late,  I  behold  you,  yet  I  behold  you  at  last,  400 

And  glory,  beholding!    For  now  are  the  days  of  my  agony 

past, 
The  lust  that  famished  my  soul  now  eats  and  drinks  its 

desire, 
And  they  that  encompassed  my  son  shrivel  alive  in  the  fire. 
Tenfold  precious  the  vengeance  that  comes  after  lingering 

years! 
Ye  quenched  the  voice  of  my  singer  ?— hark,  in  your  dying 

ears, 
The  song  of  the  conflagration!    Ye  left  me  a  widow  alone? 
—Behold,  the  whole  of  your  race  consumes,  sinew  and  bone 
And  torturing  flesh  together:  man,  mother,  and  maid 
Heaped  in  a  common  shambles;  and  already,  borne  by  the 

trade, 
The  smoke  of  your  dissolution  darkens  the  stars  of  night.»  410 

Thus  she  spoke,  and  her  stature  grew  in  the  people's  sight. 


in.  rah£ro 

Rahero  was  there  in  the  hall  asleep:  beside  him  his  wife, 
Comely,  a  mirthful  woman,  one  that  delighted  in  life; 
And  a  girl  that  was  ripe  for  marriage,  shy  and  sly  as  a 

mouse; 
And  a  boy,  a  climber  of  trees:  all  the  hopes  of  his  house. 

301 


BALLADS 

Unwary,  with  open  hands,  he  slept  in  the  midst  of  his  folk, 
And  dreamed  that  he  heard  a  voice  crying  without,  and 

awoke, 
Leaping  blindly  afoot  like  one  from  a  dream  that  he  fears. 
A  hellish  glow  and  clouds  were  about  him;— it  roared  in  his 

ears 
420  Like  the  sound  of  the  cataract  fall  that  plunges  sudden  and 

steep; 
And  Rahero  swayed  as  he  stood,  and  his  reason  was  still 

asleep. 
Now  the  flame  struck  hard  on  the  house,  wind-wielded,  a 

fracturing  blow, 
And  the  end  of  the  roof  was  burst  and  fell  on  the  sleepers 

below; 
And  the  lofty  hall,  and  the  feast,  and  the  prostrate  bodies 

of  folk, 
Shone  red  in  his  eyes  a  moment,  and  then  were  swallowed 

of  smoke. 
In  the  mind  of  Rahero  clearness  came;  and  he  opened  his 

throat; 
And  as  when  a  squall  comes  sudden,  the  straining  sail  of  a 

boat 
Thunders  aloud  and  bursts,  so  thundered  the  voice  of  the 

man. 
— « The  wind  and  the  rain! »  he  shouted,  the  mustering  word 

of  the  clan,14 
430  And  «up!»  and  «to  arms,  men  of  Vaiau!»     But  silence 

replied, 
Or  only  the  voice  of  the  gusts  of  the  fire,  and  nothing  beside. 

302 


THE  SONG  OF   RAHERO 

Rahero  stooped  and  groped.    He  handled  his  womankind, 

But  the  fumes  of  the  fire  and  the  kava  had  quenched  the 
life  of  their  mind, 

And  they  lay  like  pillars  prone;  and  his  hand  encountered 
the  boy, 

And  there  sprang  in  the  gloom  of  his  soul  a  sudden  light- 
ning of  joy. 

«  Him  can  I  save ! »  he  thought,  « if  I  were  speedy  enough.* 

And  he  loosened  the  cloth  from  his  loins,  and  swaddled  the 
child  in  the  stuff; 

And  about  the  strength  of  his  neck  he  knotted  the  burden 
well. 


There  where  the  roof  had  fallen,  it  roared  like  the  mouth  of 

hell. 
Thither  Rahero  went,  stumbling  on  senseless  folk,  440 

And  grappled  a  post  of  the  house,  and  began  to  climb  in 

the  smoke: 
The  last  alive  of  Vaiau:  and  the  son  borne  by  the  sire. 
The  post  glowed  in  the  grain  with  ulcers  of  eating  fire. 
And  the  fire  bit  to  the  blood  and  mangled  his  hands  and 

thighs; 
And  the  fumes  sang  in  his  head  like  wine  and  stung  in  his 

eyes; 
And  still  he  climbed,  and  came  to  the  top,  the  place  of 

proof, 
And  thrust  a  hand  through  the  flame,  and  clambered  alive 

on  the  roof. 

303 


BALLADS 

But  even  as  he  did  so,  the  wind,  in  a  garment  of  flames  and 

pain, 
Wrapped  him  from  head  to  heel;  and  the  waistcloth  parted 

in  twain; 
450  And  the  living  fruit  of  his  loins  dropped  in  the  fire  below. 

About  the  blazing  feast-house  clustered  the  eyes  of  the  foe, 
Watching,  hand  upon  weapon,  lest  ever  a  soul  should  flee, 
Shading  the  brow  from  the  glare,  straining  the  neck  to  see. 
Only,  to  leeward,  the  flames  in  the  wind  swept  far  and  wide, 
And  the  forest  sputtered  on  fire;  and  there  might  no  man 

abide. 
Thither  Rahero  crept,  and  dropped  from  the  burning  eaves, 
And  crouching  low  to  the  ground,  in  a  treble  covert  of  leaves 
And  fire  and  volleying  smoke,  ran  for  the  life  of  his  soul 
Unseen;  and  behind  him  under  a  furnace  of  ardent  coal, 
460  Cairned  with  a  wonder  of  flame,  and  blotting  the  night  with 

smoke, 
Blazed  and  were  smelted  together  the  bones  of  all  his  folk. 

He  fled  unguided  at  first;  but  hearing  the  breakers  roar, 
Thitherward  shaped  his  way,  and  came  at  length  to  the 

shore. 
Sound-limbed  he  was:  dry-eyed;  but  smarted  in  every  part; 
And  the  mighty  cage  of  his  ribs  heaved  on  his  straining 

heart 
With  sorrow  and  rage.     And  «  Fools !»  he  cried,  « fools  of 

Vaiau, 
Heads  of  swine— gluttons— Alas!  and  where  are  they  now? 

304 


THE  SONG  OF  RAHERO 

Those  that  I  played  with,  those  that  nursed  me,  those  that  I 

nursed  ? 
God,  and  I  outliving  them!     I,  the  least  and  the  worst — 
I,   that   thought   myself  crafty,  snared   by  this   herd   of  470 

swine, 
In  the  tortures  of  hell  and  desolate,  stripped  of  all  that  was 

mine: 
All!— my  friends  and  my  fathers — the  silver  heads  of  yore 
That  trooped  to  the  council,  the  children  that  ran  to  the 

open  door 
Crying  with  innocent  voices  and  clasping  a  father's  knees! 
And  mine,  my  wife— my  daughter— my  sturdy  climber  of 

trees, 
Ah,  never  to  climb  again!* 

Thus  in  the  dusk  of  the  night, 
(For  clouds  rolled  in  the  sky  and  the  moon  was  swallowed 

from  sight,) 
Pacing  and  gnawing  his  fists,  Rahero  raged  by  the  shore. 
Vengeance:  that  must  be  his.     But  much  was  to  do  be- 480 

fore; 
And  first  a  single  life  to  be  snatched  from  a  deadly  place, 
A  life,  the  root  of  revenge,  surviving  plant  of  the  race: 
And  next  the  race  to  be  raised  anew,  and  the  lands  of  the 

clan 
Repeopled.     So  Rahero  designed,  a  prudent  man 
Even  in  wrath,  and  turned  for  the  means  of  revenge  and 

escape: 
A  boat  to  be  seized  by  stealth,  a  wife  to  be  taken  by  rape. 

305 


BALLADS 

Still  was  the  dark  lagoon;  beyond  on  the  coral  wall, 
He  saw  the  breakers  shine,  he  heard  them  bellow  and  fall. 
Alone,  on  the  top  of  the  reef,  a  man  with  a  flaming  brand 
490  Walked,  gazing  and  pausing,  a  fish-spear  poised  in  his  hand. 
The  foam  boiled  to  his  calf  when  the  mightier  breakers 

came, 
And  the  torch  shed  in  the  wind  scattering  tufts  of  flame. 
Afar  on  the  dark  lagoon  a  canoe  lay  idly  at  wait: 
A  figure  dimly  guiding  it:  surely  the  fisherman's  mate. 
Rahero  saw  and  he  smiled.     He  straightened  his  mighty 

thews: 
Naked,  with  never  a  weapon,  and  covered  with  scorch  and 

bruise, 
He  straightened  his  arms,  he  filled  the  void  of  his  body  with 

breath, 
And,  strong  as  the  wind  in  his  manhood,  doomed  the  fisher 

to  death. 

Silent  he  entered  the  water,  and  silently  swam,  and  came 
500  There  where  the  fisher  walked,  holding  on  high  the  flame. 
Loud  on  the  pier  of  the  reef  volleyed  the  breach  of  the 

sea; 
And  hard  at  the  back  of  the  man,  Rahero  crept  to  his  knee 
On  the  coral,  and  suddenly  sprang  and  seized  him,  the  elder 

hand 
Clutching  the  joint  of  his  throat,  the  other  snatching  the 

brand 
Ere  it  had  time  to  fall,  and  holding  it  steady  and  high. 
Strong  was  the  fisher,  brave,  and  swift  of  mind  and  of  eye— 

306 


THE  SONG  OF  RAHERO 

Strongly  he  threw  in  the  clutch;  but  Rahero  resisted  the 

strain, 
And  jerked,  and  the  spine  of  life  snapped  with  a  crack  in 

twain, 
And  the  man  came  slack  in  his  hands  and  tumbled  a  lump 

at  his  feet. 

One  moment:  and  there,  on  the  reef,  where  the  breakers  510 

whitened  and  beat, 
Rahero  was  standing  alone,  glowing  and  scorched  and  bare, 
A  victor  unknown  of  any,  raising  the  torch  in  the  air. 
But  once  he  drank  of  his  breath,  and  instantly  set  him  to 

fish 
Like  a  man  intent  upon  supper  at  home  and  a  savoury 

dish. 
For  what  should  the  woman  have  seen?     A  man  with  a 

torch— and  then 
A  moment's  blur  of  the  eyes— and  a  man  with  a  torch  again. 
And  the  torch  had  scarcely  been  shaken.     « Ah,  surely,» 

Rahero  said, 
« She  will  deem  it  a  trick  of  the  eyes,  a  fancy  born  in  the 

head; 
But  time  must  be  given  the  fool  to  nourish  a  fool's  belief.* 
So  for  a  while,  a  sedulous  fisher,  he  walked  the  reef,  520 

Pausing  at  times  and  gazing,  striking  at  times  with  the 

spear: 
—Lastly,  uttered  the  call;  and  even  as  the  boat  drew  near, 
Like  a  man  that  was  done  with  its  use,  tossed  the  torch  in 

the  sea. 

307 


BALLADS 

Lightly  he  leaped  on  the  boat  beside  the  woman;  and  she 
Lightly  addressed  him,  and  yielded  the  paddle  and  place  to 

sit; 
For  now  the  torch  was  extinguished  the  night  was  black  as 

the  pit. 
Rahero  set  him  to  row,  never  a  word  he  spoke, 
And   the  boat  sang  in  the  water  urged  by  his  vigorous 

stroke. 
—  «What  ails  you?»  the  woman  asked,  «and  why  did  you 

drop  the  brand  ? 
530  We  have  only  to  kindle  another  as  soon  as  we  come  to 

land.w 
Never  a  word  Rahero  replied,  but  urged  the  canoe. 
And  a  chill  fell  on  the  woman.— « Atta!  speak!  is  it  you? 
Speak!     Why  are  you  silent?     Why  do  you  bend  aside ? 
Wherefore  steer  to  the  seaward  ? »  thus  she  panted  and 

cried. 
Never  a  word  from  the  oarsman,  toiling  there  in  the  dark; 
But  right  for  a  gate  of  the  reef  he  silently  headed  the 

bark, 
And  wielding  the  single  paddle  with  passionate  sweep  on 

sweep, 
Drove  her,  the  little  fitted,  forth  on  the  open  deep. 
And  fear,  there  where  she  sat,  froze  the  woman  to  stone: 
540  Not  fear  of  the  crazy  boat  and  the  weltering  deep  alone; 
But  a  keener  fear  of  the  night,  the  dark,  and  the  ghostly 

hour, 
And  the  thing  that  drove  the  canoe  with  more  than  a  mor- 
tal's power 

308 


THE  SONG  OF  RAHERO 

And  more  than  a  mortal's  boldness.    For  much  she  knew  of 

the  dead 
That  haunt  and  fish  upon  reefs,  toiling,  like  men,  for  bread, 
And  traffic  with  human  fishers,  or  slay  them  and  take  their 

ware, 
Till  the  hour  when  the  star  of  the  dead 15  goes  down,  and 

the  morning  air 
Blows,  and  the  cocks  are  singing  on  shore.    And  surely  she 

knew 
The  speechless  thing  at  her  side  belonged  to  the  grave.16 

It  blew 
All  night  from  the  south;  all  night,  Rahero  contended  and 

kept 
The  prow  to  the  cresting  sea;  and,  silent  as  though  she  slept,  550 
The  woman  huddled  and  quaked.     And  now  was  the  peep  of 

day. 
High  and  long  on  their  left  the  mountainous  island  lay; 
And  over  the  peaks  of  Taiarapu  arrows  of  sunlight  struck. 
On  shore  the  birds  were  beginning  to  sing:  the  ghostly 

ruck 
Of  the  buried  had  long  ago  returned  to  the  covered  grave; 
And  here  on  the  sea,  the  woman,  waxing  suddenly  brave, 
Turned  her  swiftly  about  and  looked  in  the  face  of  the 

man. 
And  sure  he  was  none  that  she  knew,  none  of  her  country 

or  clan: 
A  stranger,  mother-naked,  and  marred  with  the  marks  of 

fire, 
But  comely  and  great  of  stature,  a  man  to  obey  and  admire.  560 

309 


BALLADS 

And  Rahero  regarded  her  also,  fixed,  with  a  frowning  face, 
Judging  the  woman's  fitness  to  mother  a  warlike  race. 
Broad  of  shoulder,  ample  of  girde,  long  in  the  thigh, 
Deep  of  bosom  she  was,  and  bravely  supported  his  eye. 

«  Woman,»  said  he,  «last  night  the  men  of  your  folk- 
Man,  woman,  and  maid,  smothered  my  race  in  smoke. 
It  was  done  like  cowards;  and  I,  a  mighty  man  of  my  hands, 
Escaped,  a  single  life;  and  now  to  the  empty  lands 
And  smokeless  hearths  of  my  people,  sail,  with  yourself, 

alone. 
570  Before  your  mother  was  born,  the  die  of  to-day  was  thrown 
And  you  selected:— your  husband,  vainly  striving,  to  fall 
Broken  between  these  hands:— yourself  to  be  severed  from 

all, 
The  places,  the  people,  you  love— home,  kindred,  and  clan— 
And  to  dwell  in  a  dssert  and  bear  the  babes  of  a  kinless 

man.» 


310 


NOTES  TO  THE  SONG  OP  RAHERO 

Introduction. — This  tale,  of  which  I  have  not  consciously  changed 
a  single  feature,  I  received  from  tradition.  It  is  highly  popular 
through  all  the  country  of  the  eight  Tevas,  the  clan  to  which  Rahero 
belonged ;  and  particularly  in  Taiarapu,  the  windward  peninsula  of 
Tahiti,  where  he  lived.  I  have  heard  from  end  to  end  two  versions  ; 
and  as  many  as  live  different  persons  have  helped  me  with  details. 
There  seems  no  reason  why  the  tale  should  not  be  true. 

Note  1,  verse  22.  "  The  aito,"  quasi  champion,  or  brave.  One 
skilled  in  the  use  of  some  weapon,  who  wandered  the  country  chal- 
lenging distinguished  rivals  and  taking  part  in  local  quarrels.  It 
was  in  the  natural  course  of  his  advancement  to  be  at  last  employed 
by  a  chief,  or  king ;  and  it  would  then  be  a  part  of  his  duties  to  pur- 
vey the  victim  for  sacrifice.  One  of  the  doomed  families  was  indi- 
cated ;  the  aito  took  his  weapon  and  went  forth  alone  ;  a  little  behind 
him  bearers  followed  with  the  sacrificial  basket.  Sometimes  the 
victim  showed  fight,  sometimes  prevailed  ;  more  often,  without  doubt, 
he  fell.  But  whatever  body  was  found,  the  bearers  indifferently 
took  up. 

Note  2,  verses  45  etseq.  "Pai,"  "  Honoura,"  and  "Ahupu."  Legen- 
dary persons  of  Tahiti,  all  natives  of  Taiarapu.  Of  the  two  first,  I 
have  collected  singular  although  imperfect  legends,  which  I  hope 
soon  to  lay  before  the  public  in  another  place.  Of  Ahupu,  except  in 
snatches  of  song,  little  memory  appears  to  linger.  She  dwelt  at  least 
about  Tepari,—  "  the  sea-cliffs,"—  the  eastern  fastness  of  the  isle  ; 
walked  by  paths  known  only  to  herself  upon  the  mountains  ;  was 
courted  by  dangerous  suitors  who  came  swimming  from  adjacent 

311 


BALLADS 

islands,  and  defended  and  rescued  (as  I  gather)  by  the  loyalty  0) 
native  tish.  My  anxiety  to  learn  mure  of  "  Ahupu  Vehine  "  became 
(during  my  stay  in  Taiarapu)  a  cause  of  some  diversion  to  that 
mirthful  people,  the  inhabitants. 

Note  3,  verse  80.  "  Covered  an  oven."  The  cooking  lire  is  made 
in  a  hole  in  the  ground,  and  is  then  buried. 

Note  4,  verse  85.  "  Flies."  This  is  perhaps  an  anachronism.  Even 
speaking  of  to-day  in  Tahiti,  the  phrase  would  have  to  be  understood 
as  referring  mainly  to  mosquitoes,  and  these  oidy  in  watered  valleys 
with  close  woods,  such  as  I  suppose  to  form  the  surroundings  of 
Rahero's  homestead.  Quarter  of  a  mile  away,  where  the  air  moves 
freely,  you  shall  look  in  vain  for  one. 

Note  5,  verse  115.  "Hook"  of  mother-of-pearl.  Bright-hook 
fishing,  and  that  with  the  spear,  appear  to  be  the  favourite  native 
methods. 

Note  6,  verse  133.    "  Leaves,"  the  plates  of  Tahiti. 

Note  7,  verse  144.  "  Yottoivas,"  so  spelt  for  convenience  of  pro- 
nunciation, quasi  Tacksmen  in  the  Scottish  Highlands.  The  organi- 
sation of  eight  sub-districts  and  eight  yottowas  to  a  division,  which 
was  in  use  (until  yesterday)  among  the  Tevas,  I  have  attributed 
without  authority  to  the  next  clan  :  see  verses  341-2. 

Note  8,  verse  160.  "  dmare,"  pronounce  as  a  dactyl.  A  loaded 
quarter-staff,  one  of  the  two  favourite  weapons  of  the  Tahitian  brave  : 
the  javelin,  or  casting  spear,  was  the  other. 

Note  9,  verse  202.  "  The  ribbon  of  light."  Still  to  be  seen  (and 
heard)  spinning  from  one  marae  to  another  on  Tahiti ;  or  so  I  have 
it  upon  evidence  that  would  rejoice  the  Psychical  Society. 

Note  10,  verse  221.  "  Ndmunu-ura."  The  complete  name  is  Na- 
munu-ura  te  aropa.  Why  it  should  be  pronounced  Namunu,  dactyl- 
lically,  I  cannot  see,  but  so  I  have  always  heard  it.  This  was  the 
clan  immediately  beyond  the  Tevas  on  the  south  coast  of  the  island. 

312 


THE  SONG  OF  RAHERO 

At  the  date  of  the  tale  the  clan  organisation  must  have  been  very 
weak.  There  is  no  particular  mention  of  Tamatea's  mother  going  to 
Papara,  to  the  head  chief  of  her  own  clan,  which  would  appear  her 
natural  recourse.  On  the  other  hand,  she  seems  to  have  visited  va- 
rious lesser  chiefs  among  the  Tevas,  and  these  to  have  excused  them- 
selves solely  on  the  danger  of  the  enterprise.  The  broad  distinction 
here  drawn  between  Nateva  and  Namunu-ura  is  therefore  not  impos- 
sibly anachronistic. 

Note  11,  verse  223.  "  Eiopa  the  king."  Hiopa  was  really  the 
name  of  the  king  (chief)  of  Vaiau ;  but  I  could  never  learn  that  of 
the  king  of  Paea  —  pronounce  to  rhyme  with  the  Indian  ayah  —  and 
I  gave  the  name  where  it  was  most  needed.  This  note  must  appear 
otiose  indeed  to  readers  who  have  never  heard  of  either  of  these  two 
gentlemen ;  and  perhaps  there  is  only  one  person  in  the  world  capa- 
ble at  once  of  reading  my  verses  and  spying  the  inaccuracy.  For 
him,  for  Mr.  Tati  Salmon,  hereditary  high  chief  of  the  Tevas,  the 
note  is  solely  written :  a  small  attention  from  a  clansman  to  his 
chief. 

Note  12,  verse  239.  "Let  the  pigs  be  tapu."  It  is  impossible  to 
explain  tapu  in  a  note  ;  we  have  it  as  an  English  word,  taboo.  Suffice 
it,  that  a  thing  which  was  tapu  must  not  be  touched,  nor  a  place  that 
was  tapu  visited. 

Note  13,  verse  354.  "Fish,  the  food  <f  desire."  There  is  a  special 
word  in  the  Tahitian  language  to  signify  hungering  after  fish.  I  may 
remark  that  here  is  one  of  my  chief  difficulties  about  the  whole  story. 
How  did  king,  commons,  women,  and  all  come  to  eat  together  at  this 
feast?  But  it  troubled  none  of  my  numerous  authorities  ;  so  there 
must  certainly  be  some  natural  explanation. 

Note  14,  verse  429.     "  ITie  mustering  word  of  the  clan." 

Teva  te  wx, 
Teva  te  matait 

Teva  the  wind, 
Teva  the  rain  I 

313 


BALLADS 

Note  15,  verse  546.  Note  16,  verse  548.  "  The  star  of  the  dead." 
Venus  as  a  morning  star.  I  have  collected  much  curious  evidence 
as  to  this  belief.  The  dead  retain  their  taste  for  a  fish  diet,  enter 
into  copartnery  with  living  tishcrs,  and  haunt  the  reef  and  the  lagoon. 
The  conclusion  attributed  to  the  nameless  lady  of  the  legend  would 
be  reached  to-day,  under  the  like  circumstances,  by  ninety  per  cent, 
of  Polynesians  ;  and  here  1  probably  understate  by  one-tenth. 


314 


THE  FEAST  OF  FAMINE 


THE  FEAST  OF  FAMINE 

MARQUESAN   MANNERS 
I.    THE   PRIEST'S   VIGIL 

IN  all  the  land  of  the  tribe  was  neither  fish  nor  fruit, 
And  the  deepest  pit  of  popoi  stood  empty  to  the  foot.1 
The  clans  upon  the  left  and  the  clans  upon  the  right 
Now  oiled  their  carven  maces  and  scoured  their  daggers 

bright; 
They  gat  them  to  the  thicket,  to  the  deepest  of  the  shade, 
And  lay  with  sleepless  eyes  in  the  deadly  ambuscade. 
And  oft  in  the  starry  even  the  song  of  mourning  rose, 
What  time  the  oven  smoked  in  the  country  of  their  foes; 
For  oft  to  loving  hearts,  and  waiting  ears  and  sight, 
The  lads  that  went  to  forage  returned  not  with  the  night.    10 
Now  first  the  children  sickened,  and  then  the  women  paled, 
And  the  great  arms  of  the  warrior  no  more  for  war  availed. 
Hushed  was  the  deep  drum,  discarded  was  the  dance  ; 
And  those  that  met  the  priest  now  glanced  at  him  askance. 

The  priest  was  a  man  of  years,  his  eyes  were  ruby-red,2 
He  neither  feared  the  dark  nor  the  terrors  of  the  dead, 
He  knew  the  songs  of  races,  the  names  of  ancient  date ; 

317 


BALLADS 

And  the  beard  upon  his  bosom  would  have  bought  the  chiefs 

estate. 
He  dwelt  in  a  high-built  lodge,  hard  by  the  roaring  shore, 
20  Raised  on  a  noble  terrace  and  with  tikis  3  at  the  door. 
Within  it  was  full  of  riches,  for  he  served  his  nation  well, 
And  full  of  the  sound  of  breakers,  like  the  hollow  of  a 

shell. 
For  weeks  he  let  them  perish,  gave  never  a  helping  sign, 
But  sat  on  his  oiled  platform  to  commune  with  the  divine, 
But  sat  on  his  high  terrace,  with  the  tikis  by  his  side, 
And  stared  on  the  blue  ocean,  like  a  parrot,  ruby-eyed. 

Dawn  as  yellow  as  sulphur  leaped  on  the  mountain  height: 
Out  on  the  round  of  the  sea  the  gems  of  the  morning  light, 
Up  from  the  round  of  the  sea  the  streamers  of  the  sun;— 
30  But  down  in  the  depths  of  the  valley  the  day  was  not  begun 
In  the  blue  of  the  woody  twilight  burned  red  the  cocoa-husk, 
And  the  women  and  men  of  the  clan  went  forth  to  bathe  in 

the  dusk. 
A  word  that  began  to  go  round,  a  word,  a  whisper,  a  start: 
Hope  that  leaped  in  the  bosom,  fear  that  knocked  on  the 

heart: 
«See,  the  priest  is  not  risen— look,  for  his  door  is  fast! 
He  is  going  to  name  the  victims;  he  is  going  to  help  us  at 

last.» 

Thrice  rose  the  sun  to  noon;  and  ever,  like  one  of  the  dead, 
The  priest  lay  still  in  his  house  with  the  roar  of  the  sea  in 
his  head; 

318 


THE  FEAST  OF  FAMINE 

There  was  never  a  foot  on  the  floor,  there  was  never  a  whis- 
per of  speech; 

Only  the  leering  tikis  stared  on  the  blinding  beach.  40 

Again  were  the  mountains  fired,  again  the  morning  broke; 

And  all  the  houses  lay  still,  but  the  house  of  the  priest 
awoke. 

Close  in  their  covering  roofs  lay  and  trembled  the  clan, 

But  the  aged,  red-eyed  priest  ran  forth  like  a  lunatic  man; 

And  the  village  panted  to  see  him  in  the  jewels  of  death 
again, 

In  the  silver  beards  of  the  old  and  the  hair  of  women  slain. 

Frenzy  shook  in  his  limbs,  frenzy  shone  in  his  eyes, 

And  still  and  again  as  he  ran,  the  valley  rang  with  his  cries. 

All  day  long  in  the  land,  by  cliff  and  thicket  and  den, 

He  ran  his  lunatic  rounds,  and  howled  for  the  flesh  of  50 
men; 

All  day  long  he  ate  not,  nor  ever  drank  of  the  brook; 

And  all  day  long  in  their  houses  the  people  listened  and 
shook — 

All  day  long  in  their  houses  they  listened  with  bated  breath, 

And  never  a  soul  went  forth,  for  the  sight  of  the  priest  was 
death. 

Three  were  the  days  of  his  running,  as  the  gods  appointed 

of  yore, 
Two  the  nights  of  his  sleeping  alone  in  the  place  of  gore: 
The  drunken  slumber  of  frenzy  twice  he  drank  to  the  lees, 
On  the  sacred  stones  of  the  High-place  under  the  sacred 

trees; 

319 


BALLADS 

With  a  lamp  at  his  ashen  head  he  lay  in  the  place  of  the 

feast, 
SO  And  the  sacred  leaves  of  the  banyan  rustled  around  the 

priest. 
Last,  when  the  stated  even  fell  upon  terrace  and  tree, 
And  the  shade  of  the  lofty  island  lay  leagues  away  to  sea, 
And  all  the  valleys  of  verdure  were  heavy  with  manna  and 

musk, 
The  wreck  of  the  red-eyed  priest  came  gasping  home  in  the 

dusk. 
He  reeled  across  the  village,  he  staggered  along  the  shore, 
And  between  the  leering  tikis  crept  groping  through  his  door. 

There  went  a  stir  through  the  lodges,  the  voice  of  speech 

awoke; 
Once  more  from  the  builded  platforms  arose  the  evening 

smoke. 
And  those  who  were  mighty  in  war,  and  those  renowned  for 

an  art 
70  Sat  in  their  stated  seats  and  talked  of  the  morrow  apart. 


II.    THE   LOVERS 

Hark!  away  in  the  woods— for  the  ears  of  love  are  sharp- 
Stealthily,  quietly  touched,  the  note  of  the  one-stringed 

harp.4 
In  the  lighted  house  of  her  father,  why  should  Taheia  start  ? 
Taheia  heavy  of  hair,  Taheia  tender  of  heart, 

320 


THE  FEAST  OF  FAMINE 

Taheia  the  well-descended,  a  bountiful  dealer  in  love, 
Nimble  of  foot  like  the  deer,  and  kind  of  eye  like  the  dove  ? 
Sly  and  shy  as  a  cat,  with  never  a  change  of  face, 
Taheia  slips  to  the  door,  like  one  that  would  breathe  a  space; 
Saunters  and  pauses,  and  looks  at  the  stars,  and  lists  to  the 

seas; 
Then  sudden  and  swift  as  a  cat,  she  plunges  under  the  trees.  80 
Swift  as  a  cat  she  runs,  with  her  garment  gathered  high, 
Leaping,  nimble  of  foot,  running,  certain  of  eye; 
And  ever  to  guide  her  way  over  the  smooth  and  the  sharp, 
Ever  nearer  and  nearer  the  note  of  the  one-stringed  harp ; 
Till  at  length,  in  a  glade  of  the  wood,  with  a  naked  mountain 

above, 
The  sound  of  the  harp  thrown  down,  and  she  in  the  arms  of 

her  love. 
«Rua,»  —  «Taheia,»  they  cry— «  my  heart,  my  soul,  and  my 

eyes,» 
And  clasp  and  sunder  and  kiss,  with  lovely  laughter  and 

sighs, 
«  Rua !»  — « Taheia,  my  love,»— «Rua,  star  of  my  night, 
Clasp  me,  hold  me,  and  love  me,  single  spring  of  delight.))    90 

And  Rua  folded  her  close,  he  folded  her  near  and  long, 
The  living  knit  to  the  living,  and  sang  the  lover's  song: 

Night,  night  it  is,  night  upon  the  palms. 
Night,  night  it  is,  the  land  wind  has  blown. 
Starry,  starry  night,  over  deep  and  height ; 
Love,  love  in  the  valley,  love  all  alone. 
321 


BALLADS 

«Taheia,  heavy  of  hair,  a  foolish  thing  have  we  done, 
To  bind  what  gods  have  sundered  unkindly  into  one. 
Why  should  a  lowly  lover  have  touched  Taheia's  skirt, 

lOOTaheia  the  well-descended,  and  Rua  child  of  the  dirt  ?  » 
— « On  high  with  the  haka-ikis  my  father  sits  in  state, 
Ten  times  fifty  kinsmen  salute  him  in  the  gate; 
Round  all  his  martial  body,  and  in  bands  across  his  face, 
The  marks  of  the  tattooer  proclaim  his  lofty  place. 
I  too,  in  the  hands  of  the  cunning,  in  the  sacred  cabin  of 

palm,5 
Have  shrunk  like  the  mimosa,  and  bleated  like  the  lamb; 
Round  half  my  tender  body,  that  none  shall  clasp  but  you, 
For  a  crest  and  a  fair  adornment  go  dainty  lines  of  blue. 
Love,  love,  beloved  Rua,  love  levels  all  degrees, 

110  And  the  well-tattooed  Taheia  clings  panting  to  your  knees.w 

—  «Taheia,  song  of  the  morning,  how  long  is  the  longest 

love? 
A  cry,  a  clasp  of  the  hands,  a  star  that  falls  from  above! 
Ever  at  morn  in  the  blue,  and  at  night  when  all  is  black 
Ever  it  skulks  and  trembles  with  the  hunter,  Death,  on  its 

track. 
Hear  me,  Taheia,  death!     For  to-morrow  the  priest  shall 

awake, 
And  the  names  be  named  of  the  victims  to  bleed  for  the 

nation's  sake; 
And  first  of  the  numbered  many  that  shall  be  slain  ere 

noon, 
Rua  the  child  of  the  dirt,  Rua  the  kinless  loon. 

322 


THE  FEAST  OF  FAMINE 

For  him  shall  the  drum  be  beat,  for  him  be  raised  the  song, 
For  him  to  the  sacred  High-place  the  chaunting  people  120 

throng, 
For  him  the  oven  smoke  as  for  a  speechless  beast, 
And  the  sire  of  my  Taheia  come  greedy  to  the  feast.» 
—  «Rua,  be  silent,  spare  me.    Taheia  closes  her  ears. 
Pity  my  yearning  heart,  pity  my  girlish  years! 
Flee  from  the  cruel  hands,  flee  from  the  knife  and  coal, 
Lie  hid  in  the  deeps  of  the  woods,  Rua,  sire  of  my  soul ! » 

«  Whither  to  flee,  Taheia,  whither  in  all  of  the  land  ? 
The  fires  of  the  bloody  kitchen  are  kindled  on  every  hand; 
On  every  hand  in  the  isle  a  hungry  whetting  of  teeth, 
Eyes  in  the  trees  above,  arms  in  the  brush  beneath.  130 

Patience  to  lie  in  wait,  cunning  to  follow  the  sleuth, 
Abroad  the  foes  I  have  fought,  and  at  home  the  friends  of 
my  youth.» 

«  Love,  love,  beloved  Rua,  love  has  a  clearer  eye, 
Hence  from  the  arms  of  love  you  go  not  forth  to  die. 
There,  where  the  broken  mountain  drops  sheer  into  the  gleD, 
There  shall  you  find  a  hold  from  the  boldest  hunter  of  men; 
There,  in  the  deep  recess,  where  the  sun  falls  only  at  noon, 
And  only  once  in  the  night  enters  the  light  of  the  moon, 
Nor  ever  a  sound  but  of  birds,  or  the  rain  when  it  falls  with 

a  shout; 
For  death  and  the  fear  of  death  beleaguer  the  valley  about.  140 
Tapu  it  is,  but  the  gods  will  surely  pardon  despair; 
Tapu,  but  what  of  that  ?    If  Rua  can  only  dare. 

323 


BALLADS 

Tapu  and  tapu  and  tapu,  I  know  the}'  are  every  one  right; 
But  the  god  of  every  tapu  is  not  always  quick  to  smite. 
Lie  secret  there,  my  Rua,  in  the  arms  of  awful  gods, 
Sleep  in  the  shade  of  the  trees  on  the  couch  of  the  kindly 

sods, 
Sleep  and  dream  of  Taheia,  Taheia  will  wake  for  you; 
And  whenever  the  land  wind  blows  and  the  woods  are  heavy 

with  dew, 
Alone  through  the  horror  of  night,6  with  food  for  the  soul 

of  her  love, 
150  Taheia  the  undissuaded  will  hurry  true  as  the  dove.» 

«  Taheia,  the  pit  of  the  night  crawls  with  treacherous  things, 

Spirits  of  ultimate  air  and  the  evil  souls  of  things; 

The  souls  of  the  dead,  the  stranglers,  that  perch  in  the  trees 

of  the  wood, 
Waiters  for  all  things  human,  haters  of  evil  and  good.» 

«Rua,  behold  me,  kiss  me,  look  in  my  eyes  and  read; 

Are  these  the  eyes  of  a  maid  that  would  leave  her  lover  in 

need? 
Brave  in  the  eye  of  day,  my  father  ruled  in  the  fight; 
The  child  of  his  loins,  Taheia,  will  play  the  man  in  the  night.» 

So  it  was  spoken,  and  so  agreed,  and  Taheia  arose 
1G0  And  smiled  in  the  stars  and  was  gone,  swift  as  the  swallow 
goes; 
And  Rua  stood  on  the  hill,  and  sighed,  and  followed  her  flight, 
And  there  were  the  lodges  below,  each  with  its  door  alight; 


THE  FEAST  OP  FAMINE 

From  folk  that  sat  on  the  terrace  and  drew  out  the  even  long 
Sudden  crowings  of  laughter,  monotonous  drone  of  song; 
The  quiet  passage  of  souls  over  his  head  in  the  trees;7 
And  from  all  around  the  haven  the  crumbling  thunder  of 

seas. 
« Farewell,  my  home,»  said  Rua.     « Farewell,  0  quiet  seat! 
To-morrow  in  all  your  valleys  the  drum  of  death  shall  beat.» 


III.    THE   FEAST 

Dawn  as  yellow  as  sulphur  leaped  on  the  naked  peak, 

And  all  the  village  was  stirring,  for  now  was  the  priest  to  170 

speak. 
Forth  on  his  terrace  he  came,  and  sat  with  the  chief  in  talk; 
His  lips  were  blackened  with  fever,  his  cheeks  were  whiter 

than  chalk; 
Fever  clutched  at  his  hands,  fever  nodded  his  head, 
But,  quiet  and  steady  and  cruel,  his  eyes  shone  ruby-red. 
In  the  earliest  rays  of  the  sun  the  chief  rose  up  content; 
Braves  were  summoned,  and  drummers;  messengers  came 

and  went; 
Braves  ran  to  their  lodges,  weapons  were  snatched  from  the 

wall ; 
The  commons  herded  together,  and  fear  was  over  them  all. 
Festival  dresses  they  wore,  but  the  tongue  was  dry  in  their 

mouth, 
And  the  blinking  eyes  in  their  faces  skirted  from  north  to  180 

south. 

325 


BALLADS 

Now  to  the  sacred  enclosure  gathered  the  greatest  and  least, 
And  from  under  the  shade  of  the  banyan  arose  the  voice  of 

the  feast, 
The  frenzied  roll  of  the  drum,  and  a  swift,  monotonous  song. 
Higher  the  sun  swam  up;  the  trade-wind  level  and  strong 
Awoke  in  the  tops  of  the  palms  and  rattled  the  fans  aloud, 
And  over  the  garlanded  heads  and  shining  robes  of  the 

crowd 
Tossed  the  spiders  of  shadow,  scattered  the  jewels  of  sun. 
Forty  the  tale  of  the  drums,  and  the  forty  throbbed  like  one; 
A  thousand  hearts  in  the  crowd,  and  the  even  chorus  of  song, 
190  Swift  as  the  feet  of  a  runner,  trampled  a  thousand  strong. 
And  the  old  men  leered  at  the  ovens  and  licked  their  lips  for 

the  food; 
And  the  women  stared  at  the  lads,  and  laughed  and  looked 

to  the  wood. 
As  when  the  sweltering  baker,  at  night,  when  the  city  is 

dead, 
Alone  in  the  trough  of  labour  treads  and  fashions  the  bread; 
So  in  the  heat,  and  the  reek,  and  the  touch  of  woman  and 

man, 
The  naked  spirit  of  evil  kneaded  the  hearts  of  the  clan. 

Now  cold  was  at  many  a  heart,  and  shaking  in  many  a  seat; 
For  there  were  the  empty  baskets,  but  who  was  to  furnish 

the  meat  ? 
For  here  was  the  nation  assembled,  and  there  were  the 
ovens  anigh, 
200  And  out  of  a  thousand  singers  nine  were  numbered  to  die, 

326 


THE  FEAST  OF  FAMINE 

Till,  of  a  sudden,  a  shock,  a  mace  in  the  air,  a  yell, 
And,  struck  in  the  edge  of  the  crowd,  the  first  of  the  vic- 
tims fell.8 
Terror  and  horrible  glee  divided  the  shrinking  clan, 
Terror  of  what  was  to  follow,  glee  for  a  diet  of  man. 
Frenzy  hurried  the  chaunt,  frenzy  rattled  the  drums; 
The  nobles,  high  on  the  terrace,  greedily  mouthed  their 

thumbs; 
And  once  and  again  and  again,  in  the  ignorant  crowd  below, 
Once  and  again  and  again  descended  the  murderous  blow. 
Now  smoked  the  oven,  and  now,  with  the  cutting  lip  of  a  shell, 
A  butcher  of  ninety  winters  jointed  the  bodies  well.  210 

Unto  the  carven  lodge,  silent,  in  order  due, 
The  grandees  of  the  nation  one  after  one  withdrew; 
And  a  line  of  laden  bearers  brought  to  the  terrace  foot, 
On  poles  across  their  shoulders,  the  last  reserve  of  fruit. 
The  victims  bled  for  the  nobles  in  the  old  appointed  way; 
The  fruit  was  spread  for  the  commons,  for  all  should  eat  to- 
day. 

And  now  was  the  kava  brewed,  and  now  the  cocoa  ran, 
Now  was  the  hour  of  the  dance  for  child  and  woman  and 

man; 
And  mirth  was  in  every  heart,  a-nd  a  garland  on  every  head, 
And  all  was  well  with  the  living  and  well  with  the  eight  who  220 

were  dead. 
Only  the  chiefs  and  the  priest  talked  and  consulted  awhile: 
«  To-morrow,»  they  said,  and  «  To-morrow,»  and  nodded  and 

seemed  to  smile: 

327 


BALLADS 

«Rua  the  child  of  dirt,  the  creature  of  common  clay, 
Rua  must  die  to-morrow,  since  Rua  is  gone  to-day.» 

Out  of  the  groves  of  the  valley,  where  clear  the  blackbirds 

sang, 
Sheer  from  the  trees  of  the  valley  the  face  of  the  mountain 

sprang; 
Sheer  and  bare  it  rose,  unscalable  barricade, 
Beaten  and  blown  against  by  the  generous  draught  of  the 

trade. 
Dawn  on  its  fluted  brow  painted  rainbow  light, 
230  Close  on  its  pinnacled  crown  trembled  the  stars  at  night. 
Here  and  there  in  a  cleft  clustered  contorted  trees, 
Or  the  silver  beard  of  a  stream  hung  and  swung  in  the  breeze. 
High  overhead,  with  a  cry,  the  torrents  leaped  for  the  main, 
And  silently  sprinkled  below  in  thin  perennial  rain. 
Dark  in  the  staring  noon,  dark  wa9  Rua's  ravine, 
Damp  and  cold  was  the  air,  and  the  face  of  the  cliffs  was 

green. 
Here,  in  the  rocky  pit,  accursed  already  of  old, 
On  a  stone  in  the  midst  of  a  river,  Rua  sat  and  was  cold. 
« Valley  of  mid-day  shadows,  valley  of  silent  falls,* 
240  Rua  sang,  and  his  voice  went  hollow  about  the  walls, 
«  Valley  of  shadow  and  rock,  a  doleful  prison  to  me, 
What  is  the  life  you  can  give  to  a  child  of  the  sun  and  the 

sea  ? » 

And  Rua  arose  and  came  to  the  open  mouth  of  the  glen, 
Whence  he  beheld  the  woods,  and  the  sea,  and  houses  of 
men. 

328 


THE  FEAST  OF  FAMINE 

Wide  blew  the  riotous  trade,  and  smelt  in  his  nostrils  good; 
It  bowed  the  boats  on  the  bay,  and  tore  and  divided  the  wood; 
It  smote  and  sundered  the  groves  as  Moses  smote  with  the  rod ; 
And  the  streamers  of  all  the  trees  blew  like  banners  abroad, 
And  ever  and  on,  in  a  lull,  the  trade-wind  brought  him  along 
A  far-off  patter  of  drums  and  a  far-off  whisper  of  song.       250 

Swift  as  the  swallow's  wings,  the  diligent  hands  on  the  drum 
Fluttered  and  hurried  and  throbbed.     «  Ah,  woe  that  I  hear 

you  come,» 
Rua  cried  in  his  grief,  « a  sorrowful  sound  to  me, 
Mounting  far  and  faint  from  the  resonant  shore  of  the  sea! 
Woe  in  the  song!  for  the  grave  breathes  in  the  singers' 

breath, 
And  I  hear  in  the  tramp  of  the  drums  the  beat  of  the  heart 

of  death. 
Home  of  my  youth!  no  more,  through  all  the  length  of  the 

years, 
No  more  to  the  place  of  the  echoes  of  early  laughter  and 

tears, 
No  more  shall  Rua  return;  no  more  as  the  evening  ends, 
To  crowded  eyes  of  welcome,  to  the  reaching  hands  of  260 

friends.x 

All  day  long  from  the  High-place  the  drums  and  the  singing 

came, 
And  the  even  fell,  and  the  sun  went  down,  a  wheel  of  flame; 
And  night  came  gleaning  the  shadows  and  hushing  the 

sounds  of  the  wood; 
And  silence  slept  on  all,  where  Rua  sorrowed  and  stood. 

329 


BALLADS 

But  still  from  the  shore  of  the  bay  the  sound  of  the  festival 

rang, 
And  still  the  crowd  in  the  High-place  danced  and  shouted 

and  sang. 

Now  over  all  the  isle  terror  was  breathed  abroad 

Of  shadowy  hands  from  the  trees  and  shadowy  snares  in  the 

sod; 
And  before  the  nostrils  of  night,  the  shuddering  hunter  of 

men 
270  Hurried,  with  beard  on  shoulder,  back  to  his  lighted  den. 
«Taheia,  here  to  my  side!»— «Rua,  my  Rua,  you!» 
And  cold  from  the  clutch  of  terror,  cold  with  the  damp  of 

the  dew, 
Taheia,  heavy  of  hair,  leaped  through  the  dark  to  his  arms; 
Taheia  leaped  to  his  clasp,  and  was  folded  in  from  alarms. 

«Rua,  beloved,  here,  see  what  your  love  has  brought; 
Coming— alas!  returning— swift  as  the  shuttle  of  thought; 
Returning,  alas!  for  to-night,  with  the  beaten  drum  and  the 

voice, 
In  the  shine  of  many  torches  must  the  sleepless  clan  rejoice; 
And  Taheia  the  well-descended,  the  daughter  of  chief  and 

priest, 
280  Taheia  must  sit  in  her  place  in  the  crowded  bench  of  the 

feast.* 
So  it  was  spoken;  and  she,  girding  her  garment  high, 
Fled  and  was  swallowed  of  woods,  swift  as  the  sight  of  an 

eye. 

330 


THE  FEAST  OP  FAMINE 

Night  over  isle  and  sea  rolled  her  curtain  of  stars, 

Then  a  trouble  awoke  in  the  air,  the  east  was  banded  with 

bars; 
Dawn  as  yellow  as  sulphur  leaped  on  the  mountain  height; 
Dawn,  in  the  deepest  glen,  fell  a  wonder  of  light; 
High  and  clear  stood  the  palms  in  the  eye  of  the  brighten- 
ing east, 
And  lo !  from  the  sides  of  the  sea  the  broken  sound  of  the 

feast! 
As,  when  in  days  of  summer,  through  open  windows,  the  fly 
Swift  as  a  breeze  and  loud  as  a  trump  goes  by,  290 

But  when  frosts  in  the  field  have  pinched  the  wintering 

mouse, 
Blindly  noses  and  buzzes  and  hums  in  the  firelit  house: 
So  the  sound  of  the  feast  gallantly  trampled  at  night, 
So  it  staggered  and  drooped,  and  droned  in  the  morning 
light. 

IV.    THE   RAID 

It  chanced  that  as  Rua  sat  in  the  valley  of  silent  falls, 
He  heard  a  calling  of  doves  from  high  on  the  cliffy  walls. 
Fire  had  fashioned  of  yore,  and  time  had  broken,  the  rocks; 
There  were  rooting  crannies  for  trees  and  nesting-places  for 

flocks; 
And  he  saw  on  the  top  of  the  cliffs,  looking  up  from  the  pit 

of  the  shade, 
A  flicker  of  wings  and  sunshine,  and  trees  that  swung  in  the  300 

trade. 

331 


BALLADS 

•  The  trees  swing  in  the  trade,*  quoth  Rua,  doubtful  of 

words, 
«  And  the  sun  stares  from  the  sky,  but  what  should  trouble 

the  birds  ?  » 
Up  from   the   shade  he  gazed,  where   high   the  parapet 

shone, 
And  he  was  aware  of  a  ledge  and  of  things  that  moved 

thereon. 
«  What  manner  of  things  are  these  ?   Are  they  spirits  abroad 

by  day  ? 
Or  the  foes  of  my  clan  that  are  come,  bringing  death  by  a 

perilous  way  ?  >» 

The  valley  was  gouged  like  a  vessel,  and  round  like  the  ves- 
sel's lip, 

With  a  cape  of  the  side  of  the  hill  thrust  forth  like  the  bows 
of  a  ship. 

On  the  top  of  the  face  of  the  cape  a  volley  of  sun  struck 
fair, 
310  And  the  cape  overhung  like  a  chin  a  gulf  of  sunless  air. 

•  Silence,  heart!    What  is  that?— that,  that  flickered  and 

shone, 
Into  the  sun  for  an  instant,  and  in  an  instant  gone  ? 
Was  it  a  warrior's  plume,  a  warrior's  girdle  of  hair  ? 
Swung  in  the  loop  of  a  rope,  is  he  making  a  bridge  of  the 

air?» 

Once  and  again  Rua  saw,  in  the  trenchant  edge  of  the  sky, 
The  giddy  conjuring  done.    And  then,  in  the  blink  of  an  eye, 

332 


THE  FEAST  OF  FAMINE 

A  scream  caught  in  with  the  breath,  a  whirling  packet  of 

limbs, 
A  lump  that  dived  in  the  gulf,  more  swift  than  a  dolphin 

swims; 
And  there  was  the  lump  at  his  feet,  and  eyes  were  alive  in 

the  lump. 
Sick  was  the  soul  of  Rua,  ambushed  close  in  a  clump;  320 

Sick  of  soul  he  drew  near,  making  his  courage  stout; 
And  he  looked  in  the  face  of  the  thing,  and  the  life  of  the 

thing  went  out. 
And  he  gazed  on  the  tattooed  limbs,  and,  behold,  he  knew 

the  man: 
Hoka,  a  chief  of  the  Vais,  the  truculent  foe  of  his  clan: 
Hoka  a  moment  since  that  stepped  in  the  loop  of  the  rope, 
Filled  with  the  lust  of  war,  and  alive  with  courage  and 

hope. 

Again  to  the  giddy  cornice  Rua  lifted  his  eyes, 
And  again  beheld  men  passing  in  the  armpit  of  the  skies. 
« Foes  of  my  race! »  cried  Rua,  « the  mouth  of  Rua  is  true: 
Never  a  shark  in  the  deep  is  nobler  of  soul  than  you.  330 

There  was  never  a  nobler  foray,  never  a  bolder  plan; 
Never  a  dizzier  path  was  trod  by  the  children  of  man; 
And  Rua,  your  evil-dealer  through  all  the  days  of  his  years, 
Counts  it  honour  to  hate  you,  honour  to  fall  by  your  spears.» 
And  Rua  straightened  his  back.     «  0  Vais,  a  scheme  for  a 

scheme ! » 
Cried  Rua  and  turned  and  descended  the  turbulent  stair  of 

the  stream, 

333 


BALLADS 

Leaping  from  rock  to  rock  as  the  water-wagtail  at  home 
Flits  through  resonant  valleys  and  skims  by  boulder  and 

foam. 
And  Rua  burst  from  the  glen  and  leaped  on  the  shore  of  the 

brook, 
340  And  straight  for  the  roofs  of  the  clan  his  vigorous  way  he 

took. 
Swift  were  the  heels  of  his  flight,  and  loud  behind  as  he  went 
Rattled  the  leaping  stones  on  the  line  of  his  long  descent. 
And  ever  he  thought  as  he  ran,  and  caught  at  his  gasping 

breath, 
«  0  the  fool  of  a  Rua,  Rua  that  runs  to  his  death! 
But  the  right  is  the  right,')  thought  Rua,  and  ran  like  the 

wind  on  the  foam, 
«  The  right  is  the  right  for  ever,  and  home  for  ever  home. 
For  what  though  the  oven  smoke  ?     And  what  though  I  die 

ere  morn  ? 
There  was  I  nourished  and  tended,  and  there  was  Taheia 

born.» 
Noon  was  high  on  the  High-place,  the  second  noon  of  the 

feast; 
350    And  heat  and  shameful  slumber  weighed  on  people  and  priest; 
And  the  heart  drudged  slow  in  bodies  heavy  with  monstrous 

meals; 
And  the  senseless  limbs  were  scattered  abroad  like  spokes 

of  wheels; 
And  crapulous  women  sat  and  stared  at  the  stones  anigh 
With  a  bestial  droop  of  the  lip  and  a  swinish  rheum  in  the 

eye. 

884 


THE   FEAST   OF  FAMINE 

As  about  the  dome  of  the  bees  in  the  time  for  the  drones  to 

fall, 
The  dead  and  the  maimed  are  scattered,  and  lie,  and  stag- 
ger, and  crawl; 
So  on  the  grades  of  the  terrace,  in  the  ardent  eye  of  the 

day, 
The  half-awake  and  the  sleepers  clustered  and  crawled  and 

lay; 
And  loud  as  the  dome  of  the  bees,  in  the  time  of  a  swarm- 
ing horde, 
A  horror  of  many  insects  hung  in  the  air  and  roared.  360 

Rua  looked  and  wondered;  he  said  to  himself  in  his  heart: 
«Poor  are  the  pleasures  of  life,  and  death  is  the  better 

part.» 
But  lo!  on  the  higher  benches  a  cluster  of  tranquil  folk 
Sat  by  themselves,  nor  raised  their  serious  eyes,  nor  spoke: 
Women  with  robes  unruffled  and  garlands  duly  arranged, 
Gazing  far  from  the  feast  with  faces  of  people  estranged; 
And  quiet  amongst  the  quiet,  and  fairer  than  all  the  fair, 
Taheia,  the  well-descended,  Taheia,  heavy  of  hair. 
And  the  soul  of  Rua  awoke,  courage  enlightened  his  eyes, 
And  he  uttered  a  summoning  shout  and  called  on  the  clan  370 

to  rise. 
Over  against  him  at  once,  in  the  spotted  shade  of  the  trees, 
Owlish  and  blinking  creatures  scrambled  to  hands  and  knees; 
On  the  grades  of  the  sacred  terrace,  the  driveller  woke  to 

fear, 
And  the  hand  of  the  ham-drooped  warrior  brandished  a 
wavering  spear. 

335 


BALLADS 

And  Rua  folded  his  arms,  and  scorn  discovered  his  teeth; 

Above  the  war-crowd  gibbered,  and  Rua  stood  smiling  be- 
neath. 

Thick,  like  leaves  in  the  autumn,  faint,  like  April  sleet, 

Missiles  from  tremulous  hands  quivered  around  his  feet; 

And  Taheia  leaped  from  her  place;  and  the  priest,  the  ruby- 
eyed, 
380  Ran  to  the  front  of  the  terrace,  and  brandished  his  arms, 
and  cried: 

«Hold,  0  fools,  he  brings  tidings!))  and  «Hold,  'tis  the  love 
of  my  heart!* 

Till  lo!  in  front  of  the  terrace,  Rua  pierced  with  a  dart. 

Taheia  cherished  his  head,  and  the  aged  priest  stood  by, 

And  gazed  with  eyes  of  ruby  at  Rua's  darkening  eye. 

«  Taheia,  here  is  the  end,  I  die  a  death  for  a  man. 

I  have  given  the  life  of  my  soul  to  save  an  unsavable  clan! 

See  them,  the  drooping  of  hams !  behold  me  the  blinking  crew: 

Fifty  spears  they  cast,  and  one  of  fifty  true! 

And  you,  0  priest,  the  foreteller,  foretell  for  yourself  if  you 

can, 
390  Foretell  the  hour  of  the  day  when  the  Vais  shall  burst  on 

your  clan! 
By  the  head  of  the  tapu  cleft,  with  death  and  fire  in  their 

hand, 
Thick  and  silent  like  ants,  the  warriors  swarm  in  the  land.» 

And  they  tell  that  when  next  the  sun  had  climbed  to  the 

noonday  skies, 
Tt  shone  on  the  smoke  of  feasting  in  the  country  of  the  Vais. 

336 


NOTES   TO   THE   FEAST  OF   FAMINE 

In  this  ballad  I  have  strung  together  some  of  the  more  striking 
particularities  of  the  Marquesas.  It  rests  upon  no  authority;  it  is  in 
no  sense,  like  "  Rahero,"  a  native  story  ;  but  a  patchwork  of  details 
of  manners  and  the  impressions  of  a  traveller.  It  may  seem  strange, 
when  the  scene  is  laid  upon  these  profligate  islands,  to  make  the 
story  hinge  on  love.  But  love  is  not  less  known  in  the  Marquesas 
than  elsewhere ;  nor  is  there  any  cause  of  suicide  more  common  in 
the  islands. 

Note  1,  verse  2.  "  Pit  of  popoi."  Where  the  breadfruit  was  stored 
for  preservation. 

Note  2,  verse  15.  "Ruby-red."  The  priest's  eyes  were  probably 
red  from  the  abuse  of  kava.  His  beard  (verse  IS)  is  said  to  be  worth 
an  estate  ;  for  the  beards  or  old  men  are  the  favourite  head  adornment 
of  the  Marquesans,  as  the  hair  of  women  formed  their  most  costly 
girdle.  The  former,  among  this  generally  beardless  and  short-lived 
people,  fetch  to-day  considerable  sums. 

Note  3,  verse  20.  "  Tikis."  The  tiki  is  an  ugly  image  hewn  out 
of  wood  or  stone. 

Note  4,  verse  76.  "  The  one-stringed  harp."  Usually  employed  for 
serenades. 

Note  5,  verse  109.  "  The  sacred  cabin  of  palm."  Which,  however, 
no  woman  could  approach.  I  do  not  know  where  women  were  tat- 
tooed ;  probably  in  the  common  house,  or  in  the  bush,  for  a  woman 
was  a  creature  of  small  account.  I  must  guard  the  reader  against 
supposing  Taheia  was  at  all  disfigured ;  the  art  of  the  Marquesan 

337 


BALLADS 

tattooer  is  extreme  ;  and  she  would  appear  to  be  clothed  in  a  wel.  ..I 
lace,  inimitably  delicate,  exquisite  in  pattern,  and  of  a  bluish  hue 
that  at  once  contrasts  and  harmonises  with  the  warm  pigment  of  the 
native  skin.  It  would  be  hard  to  find  a  woman  more  becomingly 
adorned  than  a  "  well-tattooed"  Marquesan. 

Note  6,  verse  155.  "  The  horror  of  night."  The  Polynesian  fear  of 
ghosts  and  of  the  dark  has  been  already  referred  to.  Their  life  is  be- 
leaguered by  the  dead. 

Note  7,  verse  171.  "  The  quiet  passage  of  souls."  So,  I  am  told,  the 
natives  explain  the  sound  of  a  little  wind  passing  overhead  unfelt. 

Note  8,  verse  208.  "  The  first  of  the  victims  /<!!."  Without  doubt, 
this  whole  scene  is  untrue  to  fact.  The  victims  were  disposed  of  pri- 
vately and  some  time  before.  And  indeed  I  am  far  from  claiming  the 
credit  of  any  high  degree  of  accuracy  for  this  ballad.  Even  in  a  time 
of  famine,  it  is  probable  that  Marquesan  life  went  far  more  gaily  than 
is  here  represented.  But  the  melancholy  of  to-day  lies  on  the  writer's 
mind. 


338 


TICONDEROGA 


TICONDEROGA: 

A  LEGEND  OF  THE  WEST  HIGHLANDS 


THIS  is  the  tale  of  the  man 
Who  heard  a  word  in  the  night 
In  the  land  of  the  heathery  hills, 

In  the  days  of  the  feud  and  the  fight. 
By  the  sides  of  the  rainy  sea, 

Where  never  a  stranger  came, 
On  the  awful  lips  of  the  dead, 

He  heard  the  outlandish  name. 
It  sang  in  his  sleeping  ears, 

It  hummed  in  his  waking  head:  10 

The  name— Ticonderoga, 

The  utterance  of  the  dead. 


I.    THE   SAYING    OF  THE   NAME 


On  the  loch-sides  of  Appin, 

When  the  mist  blew  from  the  sea, 
A  Stewart  stood  with  a  Cameron: 

An  angry  man  was  he. 

341 


BALLADS 

The  blood  beat  in  his  ears, 

The  blood  ran  hot  to  his  head, 
The  mist  blew  from  the  sea, 
20  And  there  was  the  Cameron  dead. 

«  0,  what  have  I  done  to  my  friend, 

0,  what  have  I  done  to  mysel', 
That  he  should  be  cold  and  dead, 

And  I  in  the  danger  of  all  ? 
Nothing  but  danger  about  me, 

Danger  behind  and  before, 
Death  at  wait  in  the  heather 

In  Appin  and  Mamore, 
Hate  at  all  of  the  ferries 
30  And  death  at  each  of  the  fords, 

Camerons  priming  gunlocks 

And  Camerons  sharpening  swords.» 

But  this  was  a  man  of  counsel, 
This  was  a  man  of  a  score, 

There  dwelt  no  pawkier  Stewart 
In  Appin  or  Mamore. 

He  looked  on  the  blowing  mist, 
He  looked  on  the  awful  dead, 

And  there  came  a  smile  on  his  face 
40  And  there  slipped  a  thought  in  his  head. 

Out  over  cairn  and  moss, 
Out  over  scrog  and  scaur, 

He  ran  as  runs  the  clansman 
That  bears  the  cross  of  war. 

342 


TICONDEROGA 

His  heart  beat  in  his  body, 

His  hair  clove  to  his  face, 
When  he  came  at  last  in  the  gloaming 

To  the  dead  man's  brother's  place. 
The  east  was  white  with  the  moon, 

The  west  with  the  sun  was  red,  50 

And  there,  in  the  house-doorway, 

Stood  the  brother  of  the  dead. 

« I  have  slain  a  man  to  my  danger, 

I  have  slain  a  man  to  my  death. 
I  put  my  soul  in  your  hands,» 

The  panting  Stewart  saith. 
« I  lay  it  bare  in  your  hands, 

For  I  know  your  hands  are  leal; 
And  be  you  my  targe  and  bulwark 

From  the  bullet  and  the  steel.*  60 

Then  up  and  spoke  the  Cameron, 

And  gave  him  his  hand  again: 
« There  shall  never  a  man  in  Scotland 

Set  faith  in  me  in  vain; 
And  whatever  man  you  have  slaughtered, 

Of  whatever  name  or  line, 
By  my  sword  and  yonder  mountain, 

I  make  your  quarrel  mine.1 
I  bid  you  in  to  my  fireside, 

I  share  with  you  house  and  hall;  70 

It  stands  upon  my  honour 

To  see  you  safe  from  all.* 
313 


BALLADS 

It  fell  in  the  time  of  midnight, 
When  the  fox  barked  in  the  den, 

And  the  plaids  were  over  the  faces 
In  all  the  houses  of  men, 

That  as  the  living  Cameron 
Lay  sleepless  on  his  bed, 

Out  of  the  night  and  the  other  world, 
80  Came  in  to  him  the  dead. 

« My  blood  is  on  the  heather, 

My  bones  are  on  the  hill; 
There  is  joy  in  the  home  of  ravens 

That  the  young  shall  eat  their  fill. 
My  blood  is  poured  in  the  dust, 

My  soul  is  spilled  in  the  air; 
And  the  man  that  has  undone  me 

Sleeps  in  my  brother's  care.» 

« I'm  wae  for  your  death,  my  brother, 
90  But  if  all  of  my  house  were  dead, 

I  couldnae  withdraw  the  plighted  hand, 
Nor  break  the  word  once  said.» 

«  0,  what  shall  I  say  to  our  father, 
In  the  place  to  which  I  fare  ? 

0,  what  shall  I  say  to  our  mother, 
Who  greets  to  see  me  there  ? 

And  to  all  the  kindly  Camerons 

That  have  lived  and  died  long-syne— 

344 


TICONDEROGA 

Is  this  the  word  you  send  them, 

Fause-hearted  brother  mine  ?  »  100 

« It's  neither  fear  nor  duty, 

It's  neither  quick  nor  dead 
Shall  gar  me  withdraw  the  plighted  hand, 

Or  break  the  word  once  said.» 

Thrice  in  the  time  of  midnight, 

When  the  fox  barked  in  the  den, 
And  the  plaids  were  over  the  faces 

In  all  the  houses  of  men, 
Thrice  as  the  living  Cameron 

Lay  sleepless  on  his  bed,  110 

Out  of  the  night  and  the  other  world, 

Came  in  to  him  the  dead, 
And  cried  to  him  for  vengeance 

On  the  man  that  laid  him  low; 
And  thrice  the  living  Cameron 

Told  the  dead  Cameron,  no. 

«  Thrice  have  you  seen  me,  brother, 

But  now  shall  see  me  no  more, 
Till  you  meet  your  angry  fathers 

Upon  the  farther  shore.  120 

Thrice  have  I  spoken,  and  now, 

Before  the  cock  be  heard, 
I  take  my  leave  for  ever 

With  the  naming  of  a  word. 

345 


BALLADS 

It  shall  sing  in  your  sleeping  ears, 
It  shall  hum  in  your  waking  head, 

The  name— Ticonderoga, 

And  the  warning  of  the  dead.» 

Now  when  the  night  was  over 

And  the  time  of  people's  fears, 
The  Cameron  walked  abroad, 

And  the  word  was  in  his  ears. 
« Many  a  name  I  know, 

But  never  a  name  like  this; 
0,  where  shall  I  find  a  skilly  man 

Shall  tell  me  what  it  is  ? » 

With  many  a  man  he  counselled 

Of  high  and  low  degree, 
With  the  herdsmen  on  the  mountains 
140  And  the  fishers  of  the  sea. 

And  he  came  and  went  unweary, 

And  read  the  books  of  yore, 
And  the  runes  that  were  written  of  old 

On  stones  upon  the  moor. 
And  many  a  name  he  was  told, 

But  never  the  name  of  his  fears— 
Never,  in  east  or  west, 

The  name  that  rang  in  his  ears: 
Names  of  men  and  of  clans, 
150  Names  for  the  grass  and  the  tree, 

For  the  smallest  tarn  in  the  mountains, 

The  smallest  reef  in  the  sea: 

346 


TICONDEROGA 

Names  for  the  high  and  low, 

The  names  of  the  craig  and  the  flat; 
But  in  all  the  land  of  Scotland, 

Never  a  name  like  that. 


II.    THE  SEEKING   OF  THE   NAME 

And  now  there  was  speech  in  the  south, 

And  a  man  of  the  south  that  was  wise, 
A  periwig'd  lord  of  London,2 

Called  on  the  clans  to  rise.  160 

And  the  riders  rode,  and  the  summons 

Came  to  the  western  shore, 
To  the  land  of  the  sea  and  the  heather, 

To  Appin  and  Mamore. 
It  called  on  all  to  gather 

From  every  scrog  and  scaur, 
That  loved  their  fathers'  tartan 

And  the  ancient  game  of  war. 
And  down  the  watery  valley 

And  up  the  windy  hill,  170 

Once  more,  as  in  the  olden, 

The  pipes  were  sounding  shrill; 
Again  in  highland  sunshine 

The  naked  steel  was  bright; 
And  the  lads,  once  more  in  tartan, 

Went  forth  again  to  fight. 
347 


BALLADS 

« 0,  why  should  I  dwell  here 

With  a  weird  upon  my  life, 
When  the  clansmen  shout  for  battle 
180  And  the  war-swords  clash  in  strife? 

I  cannae  joy  at  feast, 

I  cannae  sleep  in  bed, 
For  the  wonder  of  the  word 

And  the  warning  of  the  dead. 
It  sings  in  my  sleeping  ears, 

It  hums  in  my  waking  head, 
The  name— Ticonderoga, 

The  utterance  of  the  dead. 
Then  up,  and  with  the  fighting  men 
190  To  march  away  from  here, 

Till  the  cry  of  the  great  war-pipe 

Shall  drown  it  in  my  ear!» 

Where  flew  King  George's  ensign 

The  plaided  soldiers  went: 
They  drew  the  sword  in  Germany, 

In  Flanders  pitched  the  tent. 
The  bells  of  foreign  cities 

Rang  far  across  the  plain : 
They  passed  the  happy  Rhine, 
200  They  drank  the  rapid  Main. 

Through  Asiatic  jungles 

The  Tartans  filed  their  way, 
And  the  neighing  of  the  war-pipes 

Struck  terror  in  Cathay.3 

348 


TICONDEROGA 

«  Many  a  name  have  I  heard,»  he  thought, 

« In  all  the  tongues  of  men, 
Full  many  a  name  both  here  and  there, 

Full  many  both  now  and  then. 
When  I  was  at  home  in  my  father's  house 

In  the  land  of  the  naked  knee,  210 

Between  the  eagles  that  fly  in  the  lift 

And  the  herrings  that  swim  in  the  sea, 
And  now  that  I  am  a  captain-man 

With  a  braw  cockade  in  my  hat- 
Many  a  name  have  I  heard,»  he  thought, 

«  But  never  a  name  like  that.» 


III.    THE   PLACE   OF   THE   NAME 

There  fell  a  war  in  a  woody  place, 

Lay  far  across  the  sea, 
A  war  of  the  march  in  the  mirk  midnight 

And  the  shot  from  behind  the  tree,  220 

The  shaven  head  and  the  painted  face, 

The  silent  foot  in  the  wood, 
In  a  land  of  a  strange,  outlandish  tongue 

That  was  hard  to  be  understood. 

It  fell  about  the  gloaming 

The  general  stood  with  his  staff, 
He  stood  and  he  looked  east  and  we9t 

With  little  mind  to  laugh. 

349 


BALLADS 

«  Far  have  I  been  and  much  have  I  seen, 
230  And  kent  both  gain  and  loss, 

But  here  we  have  woods  on  every  hand 

And  a  kittle  water  to  cross. 
Far  have  I  been  and  much  have  I  seen, 

But  never  the  beat  of  this; 
And  there's  one  must  go  down  to  that  waterside 

To  see  how  deep  it  is.» 

It  fell  in  the  dusk  of  the  night 

When  unco  things  betide, 
The  skilly  captain,  the  Cameron, 
240  Went  down  to  that  waterside. 

Canny  and  soft  the  captain  went; 

And  a  man  of  the  woody  land, 
With  the  shaven  head  and  the  painted  face, 

Went  down  at  his  right  hand. 
It  fell  in  the  quiet  night, 

There  was  never  a  sound  to  ken; 
But  all  of  the  woods  to  the  right  and  the  left 

Lay  filled  with  the  painted  men. 

«  Far  have  I  been  and  much  have  I  seen, 
250  Both  as  a  man  and  boy, 

But  never  have  I  set  forth  a  foot 
On  so  perilous  an  employ.» 

It  fell  in  the  dusk  of  the  night 
When  unco  things  betide, 
350 


TICONDEROGA 

That  he  was  aware  of  a  captain-man 

Drew  near  to  the  waterside. 
He  was  aware  of  his  coming 

Down  in  the  gloaming  alone; 
And  he  looked  in  the  face  of  the  man 

And  lo!  the  face  was  his  own.  260 

«  This  is  my  weird,»  he  said, 

«  And  now  I  ken  the  worst; 
For  many  shall  fall  the  morn, 

But  I  shall  fall  with  the  first. 
0,  you  of  the  outland  tongue, 

You  of  the  painted  face, 
This  is  the  place  of  my  death; 

Can  you  tell  me  the  name  of  the  place  ?  » 

« Since  the  Frenchmen  have  been  here 

They  have  called  it  Sault-Marie;  270 

But  that  is  a  name  for  priests, 

And  not  for  you  and  me. 
It  went  by  another  word,» 

Quoth  he  of  the  shaven  head: 
« It  was  called  Ticonderoga 

In  the  days  of  the  great  dead.* 

And  it  fell  on  the  morrow's  morning, 

In  the  fiercest  of  the  fight, 
That  the  Cameron  bit  the  dust 

As  he  foretold  at  night;  280 

351 


BALLADS 

And  far  from  the  hills  of  heather, 
Far  from  the  isles  of  the  sea, 

He  sleeps  in  the  place  of  the  name 
As  it  was  doomed  to  be. 


362 


NOTES   TO   TICONDEROGA 

Introduction. —  I  first  heard  this  legend  of  my  own  country  from 
that  friend  of  men  of  letters,  Mr.  Alfred  Nutt,  "there  in  roaring  Lon- 
don's central  stream  ";  and  since  the  ballad  first  saw  the  light  of  day 
in  Scribner's  Magazine,  Mr.  Nutt  and  Lord  Archibald  Campbell  have 
been  in  public  controversy  on  the  facts.  Two  clans,  the  Camerons 
and  the  Campbells,  lay  claim  to  this  bracing  story  ;  and  they  do  well : 
the  man  who  preferred  his  plighted  troth  to  the  commands  and  men- 
aces of  the  dead  is  an  ancestor  worth  disputing.  But  the  Campbells 
must  rest  content :  they  have  the  broad  lands  and  the  broad  page  of 
history  ;  this  appanage  must  be  denied  them  ;  for  between  the  name 
of  Cameron  and  that  of  Campbell,  the  muse  will  never  hesitate. 

Note  1,  verse  67.  Mr.  Nutt  reminds  me  it  was  "  by  my  sword  and 
Ben  Cruachan  "  the  Cameron  swore. 

Note  2,  verse  159.    "A  periwig'd  lord  of  London."    The  first  Pitt. 

Note  3,  verse  204.  "  Cathay."  There  must  be  some  omission  in 
General  Stewart's  charming  History  of  the  Highland  Regiments,  a 
book  that  might  well  be  republished  and  continued ;  or  it  scarce 
appears  how  our  friend  could  have  got  to  China. 


353 


HEATHER   ALE 


HEATHER   ALE 

A  GALLOWAY  LEGEND 


FROM  the  bonny  bells  of  heather 
They  brewed  a  drink  long-syne, 
Was  sweeter  far  than  honey, 

Was  stronger  far  than  wine. 
They  brewed  it  and^they  drank  it, 

And  lay  in  a  blessed  swound 
For  days  and  days  together 
In  their  dwellings  underground. 

There  rose  a  king  in  Scotland, 

A  fell  man  to  his  foes,  10 

He  smote  the  Picts  in  battle, 

He  hunted  them  like  roes. 
Over  miles  of  the  red  mountain 

He  hunted  as  they  fled, 
And  strewed  the  dwarfish  bodies 

Of  the  dying  and  the  dead. 

Summer  came  in  the  country, 

Red  was  the  heather  bell; 
But  the  manner  of  the  brewing 

Was  none  alive  to  tell.  20 

357 


BALLADS 

In  graves  that  were  like  children's 
On  many  a  mountain  head, 

The  Brewsters  of  the  Heather 
Lay  numbered  with  the  dead. 


The  king  in  the  red  moorland 
Rode  on  a  summer's  day; 

And  the  bees  hummed,  and  the  curlews 
Cried  beside  the  way. 

The  king  rode,  and  was  angry, 
30  Black  was  his  brow  and  pale, 

To  rule  in  a  land  of  heather 
And  lack  the  Heather  Ale. 


It  fortuned  that  his  vassals, 
Riding  free  on  the  heath, 

Came  on  a  stone  that  was  fallen 
And  vermin  hid  beneath. 

Rudely  plucked  from  their  hiding, 
Never  a  word  they  spoke: 

A  son  and  his  aged  father— 
40  Last  of  the  dwarfish  folk. 


The  king  sat  high  on  his  charger, 
He  looked  on  the  little  men; 

And  the  dwarfish  and  swarthy  couple 
Looked  at  the  king  again. 
358 


HEATHER  ALE 

Down  by  the  shore  he  had  them; 

And  there  on  the  giddy  brink— 
« I  will  give  you  life,  ye  vermin, 

For  the  secret  of  the  drink.* 


There  stood  the  son  and  father 

And  they  looked  high  and  low;  50 

The  heather  was  red  around  them, 

The  sea  rumbled  below. 
And  up  and  spoke  the  father, 

Shrill  was  his  voice  to  hear: 
« I  have  a  word  in  private, 

A  word  for  the  royal  ear. 

«  Life  is  dear  to  the  aged, 

And  honour  a  little  thing; 
I  would  gladly  sell  the  secret,* 

Quoth  the  Pict  to  the  king.  60 

His  voice  was  small  as  a  sparrow's, 

And  shrill  and  wonderful  clear: 
« I  would  gladly  sell  my  secret, 

Only  my  son  I  fear. 

«  For  life  is  a  little  matter, 

And  death  is  nought  to  the  young; 
And  I  dare  not  sell  my  honour 

Under  the  eye  of  my  son. 
359 


BALLADS 

Take  him,  0  king,  and  bind  him, 
70  And  cast  him  far  in  the  deep; 

And  it's  I  will  tell  the  secret 
That  I  have  sworn  to  keep.* 

They  took  the  son  and  bound  him, 

Neck  and  heels  in  a  thong, 
And  a  lad  took  him  and  swung  him, 

And  flung  him  far  and  strong, 
And  the  sea  swallowed  his  body, 

Like  that  of  a  child  of  ten;— 
80  And  there  on  the  cliff  stood  the  father 

Last  of  the  dwarfish  men. 

«True  was  the  word  I  told  you: 

Only  my  son  I  feared; 
For  I  doubt  the  sapling  courage 

That  goes  without  the  beard. 
But  now  in  vain  is  the  torture, 

Fire  shall  never  avail: 
Here  dies  in  my  bosom 

The  secret  of  Heather  Ale.» 


'300 


NOTE  TO   HEATHER  ALE 

Among  the  curiosities  of  human  nature,  this  legend  claims  a  high 
place.  It  is  needless  to  remind  the  reader  that  the  Picts  were  never 
exterminated,  and  form  to  this  day  a  large  proportion  of  the  folk  of 
Scotland  :  occupying  the  eastern  and  the  central  parts,  from  the  Firth 
of  Forth,  or  perhaps  the  Lammermoors,  upon  the  south,  to  the  Ord 
of  Caithness  on  the  north.  That  the  blundering  guess  of  a  dull  chron- 
icler should  have  inspired  men  with  imaginary  loathing  for  their  own 
ancestors  is  already  strange  :  that  it  should  have  begotten  this  wild 
legend  seems  incredible.  Is  it  possible  the  chronicler's  error  was 
merely  nominal?  that  what  he  told,  and  what  the  people  proved  them- 
selves so  ready  to  receive,  about  the  Picts,  was  true  or  partly  true  of 
some  anterior  and  perhaps  Lappish  savages,  small  of  stature,  black 
of  hue,  dwelling  underground  —  possibly  also  the  distillers  of  some 
forgotten  spirit?    See  Mr.  Campbell's  Tales  of  the  West  Highlands. 


361 


CHEISTMAS  AT  SEA 


CHRISTMAS  AT  SEA 

THE  sheets  were  frozen  hard,  and  they  cut  the  naked 
hand; 
The  decks  were  like  a  slide,  where  a  seaman  scarce  could 

stand ; 
The  wind  was  a  nor'wester,  blowing  squally  off  the  sea; 
And  cliffs  and  spouting  breakers  were  the  only  things  a-lee. 

They  heard  the  surf  a-roaring  before  the  break  of  day; 
But  'twas  only  with  the  peep  of  light  we  saw  how  ill  we  lay. 
We  tumbled  every  hand  on  deck  instanter,  with  a  shout, 
And  we  gave  her  the  maintops'l,  and  stood  by  to  go  about. 

All  day  we  tacked  and  tacked  between  the  South  Head  and 

the  North; 
All  day  we  hauled  the  frozen  sheets,  and  got  no  further  10 

forth; 
All  day  as  cold  as  charity,  in  bitter  pain  and  dread, 
For  very  life  and  nature  we  tacked  from  head  to  head. 

We  gave  the  South  a  wider  berth,  for  there  the  tide-race 

roared; 
But  every  tack  we  made  we  brought  the  North  Head  close 

aboard : 

865 


BALLADS 

So's  we  saw  the  cliffs  and  houses,  and  the  breakers  running 

high, 
And  the  coastguard  in  his  garden,  with  his  glass  against  his 

eye. 

The  frost  was  on  the  village  roofs  as  white  as  ocean  foam; 
The  good  red  fires  were  burning  bright  in  every  'longshore 

home; 
The  windows  sparkled  clear,  and  the  chimneys  volleyed  out; 
20  And  I  vow  we  sniffed  the  victuals  as  the  vessel  went  about. 

The  bells  upon  the  church  were  rung  with  a  mighty  jovial 

cheer; 
For  it's  just  that  I  should  tell  you  how  (of  all  days  in  the 

year) 
This  day  of  our  adversity  was  blessed  Christmas  morn, 
And  the  house  above  the  coastguard's  was  the  house  where 

I  was  born. 

0  well  I  saw  the  pleasant  room,  the  pleasant  faces  there, 
My  mother's  silver  spectacles,  my  father's  silver  hair; 
And  well  I  saw  the  firelight,  like  a  flight  of  homely  elves, 
Go  dancing  round  the  china-plates  that  stand  upon  the  shelves. 

And  well  I  knew  the  talk  they  had,  the  talk  that  was  of  me, 
30  Of  the  shadow  on  the  household  and  the  son  that  went  to 

sea; 
And  0  the  wicked  fool  I  seemed,  in  every  kind  of  way, 
To  be  here  and  hauling  frozen  ropes  on  blessed  Christmas 

Day. 

860 


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